To Mr. Rochester, From Jane

Jane and Rochesterwhy do I yearn for your scowl
what next will you say
who gave you leave to treat me so
my young heart is wretched with literary love – pain?
fowl-like features are the coverings of your wounds
my love will mend them
my care will wrap the monster in the attic
in tapered cloths and bind her
to only your imagination conjured when but a boy
then soon after your mother’s cooing brushed the monster away
as my soft words now will still your agitated state
my Mr. Rochester
riding above on your handsome steed
your lofty abode and palatial rooms
empty of love and quiet of passion
let me offer you the gift that will fill these rooms and overflow
to the rivers of West Africa

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