Ophelia

Image from Wikimedia


I was killed by ten capricious water sprites
Is what they say. Or one malicious prince gone mad.
And died a second death when born in Shakespeare’s mind
Who clipped my wings lest I should fly away.

But truth be told, four hundred rotten years gone by
With breath as bold as death and sour as skunk,
My story was as old as Shakespeare’s wife
And guilt as deep as dogs asleep misplay.

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