29 May 2012
I sat inside my study, Awaiting words to come, I'd wait till they'd appear, Then put quill against my thumb.
A corner of my brain raged, The corpse of Hamnet hung, It was then my writing came to me, To paper, my words, I sung.
For I was witty Shakespeare, A finer man none knew, My plays were written for the world, And each granted its due.
When Hamnet died it came on me, A sudden burst of fear, I channeled it to writing, I let the black ink steer.
Hamnet was gone, I knew it, And deep inside I cried, But on to paper poured my soul, How Judge Death hung then tried.
Hamnet, Hamnet! Seemed too clear, It seemed transparent to day, And so I changed to 'Hamlet', And crafted such a play.
Shakespeare's Sorrow. • Opuss № I