Ophelia, who drowned in the waters.
She is surrounded and enompassed
by a vivid green forest, which seems to,
ironicly, shelter her in spring-time.
Her delicate hands, once clutching
posies, poppies and daisies,
now limply rest on the surface of the pool
and float carefree down-stream till caught
in floodplane.
Her dress makes one last graceful bow before
exiting beneath the surface.
And her face--aye, there's the rub-- staring
heavenward asking for pity, compassion, for-
giveness. You can tell she had been weeping.
Oh, Ophelia! in a pool of water that ought
to be thy blood! If only you could speak!
Adieu, sweet Ophelia, "Sweets to the sweet,
Farewell."
