His substance is of wits,
Eyes sculped in knowledge. Teeth
Of wisdom, cracking the nuts of
Intellectual boredom, such stuff
Which had had many in loneliness.
He'd made the path in zealousness.
He'd explored nature and human,
Celestials and the Inhuman.
He'd paved a path priced per pint
Of fame, emptied on his footprint.
He'd travelled not by leg, but by wits through spheres.
He's none but WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
18: 03: 18: 15: 41
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem