18 June 2009

Yorick’s Reply


Hark Hamlet of the Fallen
Kirk, a simpleton in words
distressed by death’s deceit;
a donkey’s head, an empty
purse and speechless cures
as blank as scripted verse.

Where are your lips I ask
now wheretofore didst thou
and I depart from friends
in arms declared? An Age
has passed and yet the
haunting sound despairs.

Alas poor Prince, you died
a pauper’s death abed, fleas
abound and throngs of lies
still fly above your hoary head
there is no papal chance of
peaceful beckoning...
© 2 April 2009, I. D. Carswell