After an evening of “Hamlet” I can’t help but toss some flowery prose around and have fun with it. I was imagining how Shakespeare might record my evening and came up with this. All comments are welcome, and of course, should be written in the same style.
If Shakespeare Wrote my Eve
Oh fie! How the day has eaten away at me making weary where once I was merry. My feet drag and my poor brain is taxed to the point that not even government and bureaucracy could squeeze from it an ounce of worth. My bleary eyes do see my homestead door and welcome thought of hearth to ease their strain.
What forth with do I find awaiting me in the box of cooling where hence we keep our chilling vittles? A pitcher of tea, brewed from leaves dark with promise that do, like a young man whispering into the instruments of my hearing, give me promise so sweet I abandon reason and drink deeply from this caffeinated draught.
A power and alertness I had foremost not had, having it be drawn from me by the tax-some day, fills me with life anew. Awake! My soul flutters in my breast like the robin stirring from a night of sleep, perchance to dream, but now to greet the blazing orb of morning. And morning it is for me, though the clock disagree, as the tea so sweet doth fill me with new purpose.
Alive with new intent, shining and bold like a new minted coin, I set about my evening with eye bright and step light. But alas, and here’s the rub: my morning, having now come at night whence I should be slumbering in recovery, chases the angels of recuperating repose far from me so I lay awake, haunted by my earlier indiscretion and vowing not to fall prey again to the allure of a nightly draught of sweet tea.