Trip sick

There once was a window of life
Through which one saw trouble and strife
All the prisons and laws
All the famines and wars
So I smashed it to bits with a knife.

I once had a poodle called Tim
Who was lovable, cuddly and prim
But he tripped on a saw
And now Tim is no more
But his head's sloshing round in my bin.

There once was a poet called Justin
Who wrote limericks foul and disgusting
He'd rewritten "Macbeth"
Using thrice as much death
Well, all right, it needed a dusting.

There once was a ghastly suggestion
That Hamlet was made out of hessian
(But more likely of sheep
Or computers) — to beep
Or not to beep — that is the question.