Home > Found Poetry > Found Poetry: Cull

Found Poetry: Cull

How I quake, my heart
and you his cruel prey.
If you hear
of all loves with fear
then I will perceive death.

Are we convenient things
to kill himself?

Leave the killing
to make all well.
Do harm with our swords
and for the more, better.

(Ref: “Midsummer Night’s Dream” (Act 2 Scene 2 & Act 3 Scene 1) William Shakespeare)

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