Philosophers and princes have the time
to ponder on the vagaries of life.
The rest of us deal daily with the climb
or worse, avoiding pestilence and strife.
The privilege of it, you've but to ask
the famous question -- not an online poll.
Outrageous fortune relishes the task.
The rest of us sling arrows, rant and troll.
To be or not to be -- no shopping list.
No tradeoff between gasoline and milk,
nor a defense against a bloodied fist.
The rest of us must manage with their ilk.
And existential questions? Like I said,
they're best when served with fragrant wine, and bread.
Author notes: I'm still thinking through the ending. Of course possible to end it as a true Shakespearean sonnet: //And existential questions? Like I said, are best when served with fragrant wine and bread// and variations thereof for now, I'm leaving the end as is, but pondering it
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