30 May 2012
Here's a little gem, I bet you didn't know, Revolving round some women, That Shakespeare used as foe.
In ink he named them witches, In life they were quite real, And all this talk of witchery, Was his usual writer's spiel.
They were, in fact, his aunts, Three sisters of his mother, There was something quirky to them, But nothing very 'other'.
Completely mundane creatures, The aunts of Will Shakespeare, Then why call them the witches? And manipulate all we hear?
You see when Will turned twelve, He expected gifts from each, But all his aunts did give him, Was a lesson they would teach.
William was prone to rage, Often had temper fits, And when one came about him, He'd turn to his writing kits.
Will didn't want a lesson, Despite it being 'fun', The aunts stayed blissfully unaware, Of the war they had begun.
And so Will turned to writing, As he often did, He reached into his buzzing head, And opened up the lid:
Ideas poured from brain to page, A magic in its own, And set about the Witches, In a menacing, evil tone.
The aunts died soon after, In mysterious circumstances, And William kept his tale, It was a story full of chances.
And that was how the Witches brewed, A tale of discontent, At least dear Will got his chance to release, The energy he had pent.
The 'Witches' -Shakespeare. • Opuss № I