and tomorrow,
and tomorrow.
To the last syylable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools,
The way to dusty deadth.
Out,out,brief candle!,
Life's but a walking shadow,a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more,
it is a tale,
Told by and idiot,
Full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
BY FARRAH UMAIRAH KHATTUL ANUAR
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