Shakespeare’s Ode To The Well Dressed Guy With Bird Shit All Over His Back

Dress’d to the nines be you,
He that loves to be flattered.
Thine overcoat dost be of Boss
And thine shoes do reveal the telltale crimson stripe
One has come to know as Prada.
Your hair, O does it shine! Slick’d into armor.
Endeavoring to announce your lofty title
Perchance a broker, salesman or lender be?
And your gait, noble gait! ‘Tis rapid and confident.
Assur’d you are of your position in life’s menagerie.
Alas, there is bird shit on your back.
Unbeknown’st to you, dear prince, an avian of genus unknown hath struck.
And placed on thine back a kingly amount of air dropp’d faeces.
Such cruel fate that nightingale or lark hath chanced to mar your good fortune!
O, how bitter a thing it is to not knowest one bears copious droppings.
In the tangl’d humanity of 14th Street did I bear witness to
thine misfortune, so boldly announc’d.
Your regal airs so vilely usurped by traitorous, uncaring bowels.
Make haste! Get thee to an apothecary!
Thus has Heavenly-sent mischief laid waste your kingdom;
The valiant die once, those burdened with guano die many times over.
Such sweet sorrow to shuffle off one’s coat, only to be tutored:
In addition to greatness, some also have bird shit thrust upon them.