I don’t feel blameless or innocent;
I grumble and dispute, so much dirt
on my glass that I should be called
Saul of Tarnish. Little light passes
through to penetrate or pierce;
I can’t see enough even to cry
tears, the gloom so thick that
I’m unable to cry at all. It
grasps with a strangling embrace;
grumble, grumble, toil
and trouble, I complain
while others crumble.
I hear a shout:
a kingdom for a nail,
a nail for a kingdom,
a nail, and my thumb is swollen,
a nail for theses on a door,
a nail, and a man died.
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Photograph by nuzrath nuzree via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.