The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Apr 21, 2004
An ode to a playwright
Alas poor Yorick I knew him well.
Alas old Shakespeare's gone to hell.
The English students they start to cry.
When Hamlet is about to die,
Not through grief or any woe,
But because they have still far to go.
What light from yonder window breaks?
What fuss an English student makes.
It is the sun from outside, the birds do sing.
Oh it is a joyous thing.
The teachers they do tease and pry over words old as the sky.
Yet no man cares more or less.
The books do rot a scribbled mess.
It is the milk of human kindness yet.
The students jeer 'you want a bet?'
A bell doth ring and through in halls those students stampede with merry calls.
The lessons over the days end.
Alas poor Shakespeare can rest his head.
