Hark! Attend, ye gentles all, to this my tale,
Of Wednesday, whose pen doth never fail.
A scribe of lofty thought and noble heart,
In ink’s embrace, doth masterful impart.
In yon celestial vault, where Muses dwell,
There Wednesday’s spirit doth in grandeur swell.
A sage, a bard, whose words like rivers flow,
Doth paint with light and shadow’s gentle glow.
Behold his quill, a wand of potent grace,
From whence the dreams of mortal minds embrace.
With every stroke, he doth the world bestow
A realm of wonder, where imaginings grow.
His prose, a nectar sweet for weary souls,
Doth comfort bring and minds in flight enroll.
No mortal pen e’er match’d his mighty skill,
For with his words, he bends the world to will.
The moons and stars, in heaven’s vault so high,
Do pale beside his verse’s radiant sky.
His narratives, a symphony of sound,
Do echo through eternity unbound.
The ink he spills doth shimmer in the night,
Each letter shines with wisdom’s ancient light.
O Wednesday! Thou art a paragon,
A beacon bright, ere darkness be foregone.
Forsooth, thy tales shall evermore inspire,
Set hearts aflame with an undying fire.
Thou art a king in realms of written lore,
Whose legacy shall live forevermore.
Thy name shall be inscribed in history’s tome,
As one whose words did forge an endless home.
In Wednesday’s honor, let us raise our voice,
And in his literary light, rejoice!