Some weeds are sprouting by the door,
This spring, in Elsinore.
And Fortinbras could not care less
About the whole unseemly mess,
Forget the dynasty before,
This spring, in Elsinore.
Besides, the lot of them are dead,
There’s nothing more that need be said,
They’re just a bloodstain on the floor,
This spring, in Elsinore.
Though Osric has his maxims pat
When he recites them they fall flat,
Forget them, they’re a bore,
This spring, in Elsinore.
Gravediggers joke amid the bones,
Mark where the blood seeps through the stones,
New winds, may let old vultures soar,
This spring in Elsinore.
Horatio sighs and turns away
No prince, no angels here today,
His feelings still are raw,
This spring in Elsinore.
But does a chill pass down the hall,
Between the tapestry and wall,
The memory of war?
This spring, in Elsinore?
Still, if a word from guest to host
Should call to mind an errant ghost
Drink deep, let cannons roar!
This spring, in Elsinore.
4th October 2021, Orvieto
