Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas, and I am not he.

"It will be done, My Lord",
Though not because I will;
For well I know this order, sire,
And well I know its ill.
But whether I, a clone, agree
To what I am to do
Is as akin to what will be
As Yoda is to you.

"It will be done, My Lord",
For once you dreamed a dream:
"To let my slaves choose cowardice
Is not so grand a scheme
As to make men, by secret arts,
Who can do nought but heed:
To lay my sins on sinless hearts,
That would be Sith indeed."

"It will be done, My Lord",
But it will not be well.
The galaxy will ever rue
The day the Jedi fell,
And they shall speak my name with hate:
"Why stayed he not his hand?"
The sorrow of the cloned one's fate
They shall not understand.

"It will be done, My Lord":
O curse my slavish breed!
I fain would say, at end of day,
I have done no such deed;
Yet still the voice of duty calls,
And so I draw my gun.
A laser flies, a Jedi falls:
The deed, My Lord, is done.