This is the blind fruit, the fruit of rage,
The hurled epithet, the torn page;
Destruction in a second destroys the tree,
Leaves the rager empty...and grieving.

The sword tip pierces the tapestry,
The old man falling, "Help! Help!" entreats.
The quick penned death note sent with fools,
England's death unleashed on broken tools.

Love foresworn, too much Ophelia pined;
Drowned she her sorrows, Hamlet’s love denied.
Here’s rosemary; here's for remembrance.
And we who've seen these scenes so many times
Remember everything.