Full fathom five thy Father lies,
Of his bones are Corrall made:
Those are pearles that were his eies,
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a Sea-change
Into something rich & strange
Sea-Nymphs hourly ring his knell.
Harke now I heare them, ding-dong, bell.
The generals are playing a death game of dare;
With missiles in the silos and bombs in the air.
There’ll be time for anger, there’ll be time for greed,
But the time shall be lost for planting the seed.
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