i miss you, dearest, sweet cordelia
whyever did i trust those horrid lies
spoken by vile reagan and goneril
and lead you to your untimely meeting
with our cold, callous, and injust maker?
'tis a bird sitting on my window sill.
i cannot stay here.
perhaps that rumbling was not rolling thunder.
perhaps it was merely a passing truck.
but can i take that chance?
you would know what to say, cordelia.
you always did, though i paid you no heed
and, thus reaped my own terrible reward