Ophelia drowned slowly, surrounded by petals, weighed down by cloth,
Ethereal, damp,
Watched but unhelped,
A sort of needless death,
Frothy, frivolous, decorated,
A pretty death.
A good woman brought to life by a man must live and die in pastels,
Slip passively away without complaint,
Go mad through a rose-tint,
Never pause and gasp unflatteringly for breath,
Even when she is drowning.