539 B.C, Ancient Babylon
And when the poor Ophelia - sent her letters - to the castle for the king
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her rendered words in torment - of her troubles - with her moral silencing.
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I wonder if she kept up - with her loveless - repetition questioning
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when the darkest hour - with the flowers - and the trees all folded green
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never had forgotten her romantic - all pedantic - fight with him
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ever since that day - she did insist - it was a silly one night thing
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the court of fair civilians - did declare - that she needed controlling
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and so they insisted - a new husband - was the way of relishing
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her tangled mess of beauty - needed someone - who could wash away her tears
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but since that day of anger - she felt lonely - and her filling soul with fears
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she begged him for a partner - suited greater - to her holy worldly needs
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a romance for the earth - and for the love - of the people that I meet
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The king he did not suffer - when she fell - to hysterics on her knees
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her tangled hair she pulled out - and presented - for the wicked king to keep
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the king he ordered stones - had her strung up - filthy naked like a pig
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her heart it fell to pieces - and it ruptured - when the people all joined in
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the people wept with laughter - as the young girl - collapsed with suffering
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broken down she crawled - up to the heights - of the tallest tower's peak
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there she threw herself - off of the top - and died a saddened mess of grief
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Her body there for days - nobody cared - her husband busy like the beast
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he was down the market - with his new bride - most content he did say
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when they reach an old age - send them off - to the market slave parade
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his new wife was a pauper - from the mountains - she had no choice but to stay
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when she's feeling lonely - she just looks up - where the young girl passed away
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem