O my love, my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
O’ how grave the barrel thy own hands hard labored.
For thou art the beautiful, magnificent, fruit upon the vine.
Whilst willing thy flower pinks by day, and blacks by night.
Pining to capture, and contain the sweet nectar of the gods.
Tis my good fortune that I suffer dying death bitter by thirst.
To granite thy muse thee lonely, ash and splinters floweth;
godbwye my love. Godbwye cruel world!
For the contest
Romeo and Juliet, How Tragic is love
Sponsor, Wandering Butterfly