I held your gaze in my heart.

If I could weave you into the fabric of myself I would.

But your gaze never lingered.

We were nothing more than a heartbeat.

Maybe someday when they sing your song,

They will sing of me.

But it will be nothing more than a line.

She will be your great verse.

Your symphony.

Author’s Note:

This is a fairly loose re-write of one of my 2007 poems. I was really into The Lady of Shallot, by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

With all the re-workings of Arthurian legends, I am surprised there aren’t more including / about the Lady. Perhaps, I just haven’t looked hard enough. It has been a good number of years since I last looked.

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