“There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them”

(Act IV,Scene VII; Hamlet)

There she lay,

look at her,

what a beautiful siren!

No other could claim

to have witnessed

anything less majestic.

Her skin so fair,

kissed by rosy petals

with cheeks so soft

fair maiden’s lips

that breath her last;

Such tragedy.

Did no one see?

Why maiden why?

Should I look for you now in the sky

Or down the river where you drowned;

heavy lies the burden

in my heart,

that now we part.

They say madness

choked you,

or was it my love?

Did I fair less

or much?

 You lay there now sound

among the daisies that float

and the weeds that bind.

Fair maiden, wake now

the water cleanses you

yet, it pours from us

to mourn your loss.

Ophelia, why be it so?

that now as I hear of your tale

it pains me so.

Lover of mine

the water carries you so.



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