In the garden of eternal prose,Where Shakespeare’s words like petals fall,The heart finds solace in its woes,And love’s sweet echo, a gentle call.Through sonnets penned with tender grace,Each line a brushstroke on the heart,He paints the beauty of love’s face,A timeless art that sets us apart.In moonlit nights where lovers meet,His quill has danced with purest fire,Crafting tales of passion’s heat,A symphony of heart’s desire.Even as the ages pass,His words remain, a guiding light,In love’s embrace, we find our class,In Shakespeare’s verse, love’s pure delight.