Shakespeare's an Alpine Goat

I begin to hike some poetry

the trail feels stubborn and hard

I languish in meadowed foothills

far below peaks of the Bard

I glance up to the mountaintop

wondering, if how and when?

quite far away seem my sonnets 

from a summited, immortal pen

I tell the truth; indeed, I do labor!

attempting to scale such a slope

but I'm belayed well to my doing

and in being so, ascending hope