How long it will take me, I need not know
But these days past, Hamlet’s thoughts to and fro
In my dear daughter’s head he did bestow.
Some ill figured mind, she has caught hold of
For young Lord Hamlet has shown her his love.
This would be fine, in case any other
But madness comes not just from his mother.
The note I have, it screams for attention
Not in the way that sparks just a mention.
“My soul’s idol” and “the most beautified”
Do nothing less than disrupt my insides
For my dearest is too fragile to see
Such words from an artist of blasphemy.
Inclined am I to retell this very letter
To King and Queen, who will know much better
And agree it their objective to plot
With my convincing plan to allot
Ophelia to walk through the lobby when
Lord Hamlet will be so fortunate and
Come across his love, where we will be hid
To observe actions, words, conversation
And stop this from affecting the nation.