From confines of his grave, Shakespeare winces
At the zillion heaps of verbose platitudes
Folks post on FB daily to impress dunces
Too low to prick open refuse latitudes
Gone sour in a poor manner by the hour
Nonchalantly sticking out their necks
In the nick of time dunces dare to power
Their trinkets and rickets without delay specs
Meandering between zero and minus one and minus
Two without realising their rap of crap far
From being mundane or inane focus
The attention of verbiage multiplication bar
Progress, digress attention and impress dilution
Taken to extremes to hem in verbal pollution.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem