The man that claims himself a king,
But has the wit of a coxcomb,
Is but a fool less entertaining
Than an ass’s bray in a foggy field,
Declaring the sun has blessed him
With the alchemist’s mischief,
Rather from the inward breath
Of genius, he throws off his cloak,
And horrifies the world too wide,
With childish treble, stamps his foot
And mumbles his sound, a second
Childishness and the mere oblivion
Of shameless wailing, orange
As the crapping of an infant
Sans taste, sans sense, sans everything.
(Thank you for the inspiration Will Shakespeare)

James McDonald
17 April 2020