Young Hamlet, somewhat sophomoric,
in Wittenberg, which he found dull,
caroused with a courtier named Yorick
until his head ached like a skull.
Years later he asked a gravedigger:
”Whose skull is this? ” When he was told:
”It’s Yorick’s! ” it helped him to figure
that everyone dies once he’s old.
(8/15/00)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem