He penned the greatest prose with god-like muse
And left us in a shadow centuries long
The language is the same we writers use
but our clumsy phrasings ne'er so strong
What starry combination blessed his birth?
The heavens surely gave him greater gifts
And we can only speculate their worth
The art itself his soaring genius lifts
I call myself a writer, but I'm not
for I have read enough of him to know
I'll be a minor spark the world forgot
but this great master's star will always glow
Some men have minds so truly touched by God
We mortals can do nothing but applaud
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