She should have died hereafter
There would have been a time for such a word
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time
And all our yesterday's have lighted fools
The way to dusty death Out Out Brief Candle
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets upon the stage
And then there is heard no more, it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying Nothing
I memorized the poem but not really well...
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