"A varied version of scene from Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus
Involving the poor victim Lavinia."
Alone she lay weeping bent o’er a well
Watching her tears as they rapidly fell.
Then a black bird perched soft on her shoulder
Speaking a language she couldn’t understand:
“You are the fairest creature in this land,
Your silk white dress is foul clad with black soil,
Please do tell me why you so sadly weep–
You must hurry for night begins to creep!
This dangerous wood is no place to sleep!”
But lo, she could not speak a single word ,
No sound from her sweet voice could clear be heard.
For when she opened forth her light pink lips
Her tongueless mouth released a flood of blood
That ran down her pale dress, turned dirt to mud.
Afraid the coward crow flew fast away.
Wailing she raised both arms robbed of her hands,
Virgin no more she cursed her unchaste brand,
Collapsed on the blood-dirt too weak to stand.
Soon her frail form receives a warm embrace
In her good uncle’s breast buries her face.
Wrapped he his woolen coat around her tight,
With gentle words he slowly bid her rise
Then wiped each tear shed from her inn’cent eyes.
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1 comment:
you're brilliant, harrison.
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