All The World's A Stage Poem by John Yaws

All the world's a stage-
Is what Sir William said,
I guess that every actor
Approaches it with dread.
The poet like the actor-
To audience does play..
Will they applaud his efforts?
Or will they say him, "Nay! "?
To touch the hearts of fickle fans-
Takes more than merely skill.
For one must play to moods you know?
And vagaries of will.
For what, one time, will draw applause
The next time gets a yawn-
Oh, what to do? Oh, what to say?
Dilemma lingers on.
Dost seem that one could specialize
In love, or ode, or prose-
Describe the grace of yonder maid-
The smell of yonder rose...
Perhaps I'd best be versatile-
Like artiste with a brush-
Instead of merely being me-
'Tis better if I'm us.
Sometime my heart is far afield-
In foreign land and clime-
Perusing long dead warrior's tales
In far and distant time.
At other times I woo some lass-
In shady, summer bower-
And toast her beauty with my words
Bestow upon her flowers.
And yet at other times you know
My thoughts go drifting back-
Mistakes I've made, friends I've known
Along life's weary track.
Ah, what to write? a question that-
And who can really say?
For what might hit the spot tonight-
The morning finds blase'.