So I wrote this. If you like it: no applause, just throw money.
Macbeth 2: A Sonnet
The Bard, of course, was far too couth a soul
To use coarse, common clay when baking bricks
With which to make the Art that was his goal;
And so it's sure he would forswear the tricks
That lesser folk who earn their bread with pen
Do use to give their scribbles some false weight.
So was I told, oft time and time again,
By those convinced that schlock could not be great.
And yet... when groundlings gathered by the stage
To hear and take in Shakespeare's latest play
They knew not of the verdict of our age;
They only cared the lines be good that day.
"Macbeth and zombies?" the question remains?
I think that Will would smile, and murmur, "BRRAAAAAAIIIINNNNS..."