All The World's A Stage
Poem By William Shakespeare
What is the word beyond the castle wall, does the morning find her still?
Across the sea from Ravenshead the news on the field pierced my shield.
I beseech you lower that massive gate, no red scourge will conquer my will.
Let a husband embrace his feverish bride, lest my own heated anger build.
For both countrymen or alien spear are the same if they hinder my way.
Rivers of blood will soak my home soil as my loyal men topple this wall.
You fear the red death must be cornered and hidden in dungeons away
But should you foolishly challenge me, understand your people must fall.
If she should ease into that pitiless sea without her hand on my heart.
No amount of prayer or battlement will ever quench this sorrow and wrath.
She, my young love from the first time we met, one true soul from the start.
Take pity on this grief stricken shadow, make haste, let me in at last!
Oh but moments are a wicked eternity when the pendulums arc swings wide.
Somewhere down torch lit corridors swallowed in the silence of her room.
Deep in the bowels of this damp stony fortress the flame of his life's light died.
She is buried on a hill in the meadow in the shadow of the Ravenshead tomb.