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Would you ever speak If the dead poet awoke? For we still heed their call, Our hearts held in thrall. Searching for the key, To unlock destiny, Striving to become The world's beating drum.
We claim "the world is our oyster," Yet how much do we foster? Each day we decay, As the poets' words hold sway. Though they rest in the grave, Their voices refuse to cave, Speaking truths profound, Their legacy unbound.
And so we remain hushed, As their echoes are thrust, Through the corridors of time, Their verses sublime. For in our silence, they thrive, Their messages alive, Guiding us on our way, As we honor their relay.
