Shakespeare

Up on a moon,

Above the world so high,

Looking down on those frantic people,

Shakespearean plays go on,

Never ending,

His work is recited over again.

Sometimes I think his work is played

So much it wears out.

Up on a moon, 

Shakespeare lives in peace,

While his work remains a mystery to most.

Words mix together, 

Names become unknown.

But one thing that will always remain

Is his pure artistic ways 

And his pure fatal plays.