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