In Stratford’s gentle cradle, a bard was born,
With quill in hand, he faced the dawn.
Of human folly and love’s sweet grace,
He wove his tales in time and space.

The Globe, his stage, the world his muse,
He penned with passion, hues diffuse.
Kings and clowns, in lines profound,
His words, in hearts, forever bound.

Amidst the tempest, beneath the moon,
His sonnets sang a timeless tune.
Through every jest and tragic cry,
He captured souls with ink and sigh.

Though centuries have come and gone,
His legacy, like morning’s dawn.
Lives on in verse, in prose, in play,
Shakespeare’s spirit guides our day.