If I were born in Shakespeare’s day,
I’d write in verse with lots to say.
Continual rhyming, words galore,
outpouring quick, hands getting sore.
But since I live in the Netflix age,
I’m far too busy to write for the stage.
I sit on my butt and binge a show,
then find another; electrons flow.
There’s nothing to write, for I do naught,
I’m not productive as I was taught.
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Wordflower 
But you weren’t born in Shakespeare’s day
You’ve been captured by capitalists
Who have their own sway
The tools and tricks
Of mindless scum
Who seek to entangle you
in their scrum
They seek to ensure your creative muse
is silenced and shaped to a bag buying flooz
Though you weren’t born in Shakespeare’s day
You still have thoughts and things to say
Games to play with your kids
Words to write with your squids
Revolts to run
Rudderals to revere
And songs to sing amid a stage made for one
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