For Ophelia

Me thinks it is as they say...
My, what a tangled web we weave.
What a tangle has been made of me!
Thou hast twisted me betwixt thy fingers bejeweled,
And fashioned yourselves a little rag doll,
Her mouth stitched with seams that speak not her own.
Thou three hath pilot over me,
Like the plotting hags of lore.
But thy innocent thread is breaking now,
Becoming frayed and worn.
From broken seams and rosy lips folly doth spill forth.
Fie! Fie!
Thou ostensible love hath tainted me
And made my thoughts dark of late.
For soon cool waters shall soothe my toils
And flowers pave the way,,,
For I feel the snip, snip, snipping at my threads
And the shadow of darkened bent heads.