Sitting in Michael's Lap
A seething storm within me swirls --
It grips my soul, forsooth --
Yet I dare not take up the quill
And let it speak my truth;
The might of words cannot contain
Nor tame this ruthless rage:
For should I lay it out in ink,
I fear 'twould scorch the page!
Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made,
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange...
--William Shakespeare, from The Tempest