Dear William Shakespeare,

Through the noblest of eyes, regarded as a prophet,

Keeping the answer of sanity ever close by,

Beyond thoughts, beyond lies, beyond mere comprehension,

These are the feeling your plays never forgot to mention.

Beginning my year, eyes up to wonder, english class would be no plunder,

Confidence in vain, your words flooded my head, in through the ear, up to the brain.

Understanding more, I began to see, the world you made on a paper became real to me,

Of Hamlet, to Gertrude, Horatio and I, the connection grew stronger as time passed by,

Enveloped in a world I knew not before,

Who ever imagined I could love one story more.

To be or not to be, to thyself be true,

Words that I cherish, which in feeling makes me blue,

Tragedy is horrid, tragedy is truth,

These are the labels that were stuck upon you.

But not me do they last, non characteristics through and through,

For tragedy is the life, of me and you.

Cordially,

Preston Hill