As mine eyes gaze upon walls adjacent
and catch glimpse of yon White Sox calendar,
I warm with a measure of elation
and spy the date, twenty into April.
But wilst thou join in my celebration?
Wilst thou commemorate that true genius?
Stricken by awe and pure concentration,
I craft my offering to thine words past.
Today we celebrate the creation
of words and prose that withstand and endure
the ravages of time, from thence nascent.
And I shalt echo my best, thine speakings.
Verily, friends, there is nothing too hard:
Toss modern away, and speak like the Bard.

( Or, in English… )