Poor, thou, little girl who thought
Love would get to thee one day,
Bet thou never thought to expect
It would culminate in doom.

And I am the resurrection in thy tomb
And the life that speaks of mercy at close of day,
Muddy Waters carry thou so far away
From Polonius and Laertes,
Tears in bloom.

Denmark's Prince in shambles thine heart left,
Dissembling and conniving against kin,
In his heart only one ambition firm:
Take back his rightful throne and fair Gertrude.

Neither Shakespeare nor Victoria save thee could
From the evil of the quill, it's own mind set.
In the labyrinth of the parchment thine fate met
"To be or not to be?"
Aye, there's the rub.