A Shakespearian soliloquy delivered by the ghost of Richard III reflecting on the discovery of his bones in a Leicester car-park
An ‘R’, upon a Council car-park writ,
Condemns my broken bones to Leicester’s light
Where Fox’s Glacier Mints aromas mask
The bloody stench of Bosworth’s battleground;
I am not in a living frame today
Yet framed I am, in dust disturbed by trowels,
The last Plantagenet, once planted deep
In flower-filled gardens, purchased from the friars,
Where warring roses fought the march of time
Till tarmac sealed them in the grave we share.
Now weary, wronged by wrongs I never did
And longing to be laid in holier ground,
I fain would travel to my final rest
But, having neither horse nor strength to walk,
My cry resounds throughout the universe:
A hearse! a hearse! My kingdom for a hearse.
Comments