SUMMARY: William was not the only bloody awful poet.
Spoilers for "Fool for Love". Written September 2002. G.
I never asked for any life but this:
Pleasing my parents was all that I did wish.
Our fortunes failing,
My father ailing,
They sought a wealthy man for my connubial bliss.
I never thought of anything but gowns,
Since my reading first provoked my parents' frowns.
A young girl reading
Started their pleading
Not to strain my brain nor yet think out of bounds.
I never hoped to meet someone like you,
With your floppy, floppy hair and eyes so blue,
Amid the tumult,
Saying, "Cecily, to thine own self be true."
I never wished for Sundays full of books
Beside the fireplace, while warmed by your shy looks.
We'd have no money,
Just tea and honey,
And a single maid to wash and clean and cook.
I never meant to break apart your heart;
But I sought to end what couldn't ever start.
It ran too deeply;
You were all weepy,
And you tore up all your poetry, your art.
I always said the streets weren't safe at night,
And then you were so unworldly, built so slight.
You are beneath me---
Six foot beneath me---
Now I'm free to marry anyone I might.