An annual act of anticipation,
Selecting dates for Shakespeare’s stage,
That wooden Globe in which the world,
Is magically made in marvelous ways.

The scent of sawdust tickles my senses,
The sound of sonnets, rousing song,
Hushed silence for soliloquies,
The prayers of people pulled along.

Each night it never fails to win,
Its wistful ways, this wondrous O,
And later on its legacy lingers,
This glistening gold whose tendrils glow.

We’ve been selecting dates for the Globe’s summer season ahead of it going on public sale tomorrow. A favourite place.
(09.02.26)

© Ben Quant 2026