The Bard Poem by Patrick Fealy

He was drawn to Tyburn
He couldn't stay away
There upon the scaffold to
he saw men stand and pray
Quite a nasty business that
when push turned into shove
down the throat of every saint
went a fist inside a glove
The Master of the Revels
screened well not the bard
Scanning through his poetry
the truth was much too hard
Synics just ignore him
Clowns discuss his wit
Shakespeare is still dangerous
because truth is hard to quit
Ignoring all the scholars
Is the purview of the proud
those who speak in whispered tones
above the madding crowd
Their mansions aren't in heaven
but near the boulevard
Their commerce is still selling soap
that wash out spots with lard
We know the drill
It's in our blood
Our seeds are in the ground
Another crop of Martyrs come
to glorify the crown