[This came from a prompt: a poem about the last thirty seconds of a basketball game in the style of William Shakespeare. Enjoy!]
FATHER: Behold, how Jordan flies on Hermes wings
To see if fair Fortuna favour brings.
SON: Look, father, how Sir Darvin grows fatigued
To think that LeBron James so early peaked.
FATHER: Oh, mark this well, you cockerel of a son
That coin you claimed was yours by me be won.
Already hear the buzz of two more points.
The gods, they must have blessed Sir Michael's joints,
That he, as sprites do, weaves through their defence
And leaves not one of them to score a chance.
SON: 'Tis true, that man plays fair and good,
Methinks he may have supped on devils blood.
I see no god within this witchery.
It smacks of lies and treachery.
That coin you promised, it shall yet be mine,
You mark my words, in fifteen seconds time.
LeBron breaks through, has man ever beheld
The red bulls like old redwoods felled?
Two points, forsooth, and even stand the games.
What, look you so surprised? It's LeBron James.
FATHER: But here comes Jordan, doubling the attack
And all the others have his back.
The clock counts down: four, three, two, one.
Two points. Alas! The bulls have won.
Theirs be the trophy, mine thy hard-earned coin.
SON: You dare to rob the fruit of thine own loin?
Begone! This match was never fair.
Like fog the cheating hangs upon the air.
FATHER: Thou swine, thou art the cheating mist.
I'll shake it from thy purse if thou resist.
BYSTANDER: Lay off thy child and leave him with his pound.
Behold the board! The last two points don't count.
At even still remains the game.
I prithee, sire, thou remainst the same.
FATHER: Another fifteen to no minutes lent.
I cannot bide, my patience fully spent.
I must have ale. My boy, let us away!
SON: I follow thee, and father, I shall pay.
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