Shakespearean sonnet on lack of toilet paper...

Such emptiness seems blindness to mine eyes,
Which once reflected wings of Angel Soft.
So light to touch like clouds in distant skies,
T’would billow on the breeze if held aloft.
What erstwhile forest floors did resupply.
This thing we rarely gave a second thought,
That lay like lifeless fallen butterflies,
May yet again be prized and highly sought.
But thus with racks devoid their precious prize.
And endless searches bring no chance reward.
Nor goods for which we choose to compromise,
While looking with contempt t’ward those who hoard,
We’ve little choice but act without delay.
And jury rig an interim bidet.