Whispers Of England

Portia's wisdom, Falstaff's jest, Lady Macbeth's sleepless unrest. Romeo and Juliet—shadows entwine, Prospero's echoes in waves of time. Othello weeps, Iago deceives, Yet through your quill, the world still breathes. A thousand suns may rise and set, Kingdoms fall, yet none forget. Your words, like stars, forever gleam, Woven deep in fate's own dream. When love is lost in fleeting sighs, And truth is veiled in golden lies, When virtue bows to greed's embrace, And laughter wears a hollow face, When wisdom fades to hollow lore, And hearts grow cold behind locked doors— I seek your voice in parchment old, A fire in ink, both fierce and cold. Your breath in syllables still remains, A ghost that speaks in hallowed strains. Yesterday, my feet did tread The hallowed ground where you once bled Ink and sorrow, joy and pain— A mortal touch in lines remain. Your house, your grave, your school's embrace, A whisper lingers in the space. I stood, I breathed, I closed my eyes, And felt the hush of timeless skies. O Bard, whose words the winds obey, I merge with you, and drift away.