Were I of competition set,
whose minds applied to quizzes, clues,
I might prompt task - complete the tale -
explore what happened after ‘Will’.
Could script be Shakespeare, signed with quill?
But surely - blue ink - forgery;
but then in feint, stab in the dark,
that Tybalt cat, et tu, Brute?
But fortune not in manuscript,
no provenance, autograph hand.
Did it enforce, ‘carpe diem!’,
dead poets cry, society?
Was it a foreign student’s notes,
list verbs, irregular in form?
I must decline that theory too -
pupils, paying, don’t lose such wealth.
Not undercover agent’s work -
when Smiley’s lot keep Moscow rules.
Was it excuse, lay low from work,
a day’s reflection, stepping back,
spent musing on the mystery,
a serendipity of faith?
I find unfinished symphony,
when orchestra left, clef in doubt,
the harmony, speculative,
no unity in time and space.
‘I will’, will I, is what’s about?
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