She broke the waves thinking that England would make her famous,

He sat in homemade tweed and knew his critics were just heinous.

 

She took his heart and gave her life in the bargain,

He took her hand and scribbled something in the margin.

 

She hoped that love from him would burn and inspire,

He stayed out late and burned of an earthlier fire.

 

She opened up, confessed of cakes and blockages,

He wrote and shut her out, complicit in the wreckages.

 

She lit the candle, and made the world more furious, 

He could but see in that same stroke she made it glorious.

 

They groped and hankered for a place in Chaucer's heaven,

They taught two little children life can surely sever.

 

She posted birthday letters impossible to answer,

He reminisced about how lovely she was as a dancer.