The Great Bard

The sun is shining brightly in the pleasant morning And the gentle breeze is blowing, This is indeed the wonderful time, Sitting cozily in my armchair, I am reading some immortal works of the great Bard, I am infinitely delighted as I go into the depth of his great deeds And I remain spellbound in amazement. With the pleasant and sublime spirit, I wonder and wonder what to write about the great Bard's skill; How shall I explain his talent? With all the heaps of praises and laurels that I know, we know and the dictionary knows, I try my best to delineate his divine skill, But I find myself not efficient enough to do it; Even I delve into the another world to get some prolific words in order to adore and elucidate the great poet perfectly, Still I remain unsaturated to depict his profound skill. Finally, I give up, reluctantly though, And with all the frustrated and agonizing mind, I blame myself for my failure; The pleasant time of the day becomes truly unpleasant, Indifferently, I begin to turn the pages of the great Bard's fabulous work, Then the wise man comes with his prolific knowledge and wisdom to soothe my harrowing heart; He firmly says it is impossible to describe justly the unfathomable talent of the great artist by an earthly man, I understand his words in my heart, We all know the great Bard, He is of all ages, He is the Bard of Avon, the unparalleled genius of English literature.