We met when I was fifteen, in a literature class

Like many boys I'd yearned for someone older

And she, while having been around, had known only abuse

and never learned the sweet and gently ways of love.

She needed tender care and I would hold her close

Take her to a place where the world's unkindness could

not wound, nor envy bite and love's deceits betray.

She yielded to me slowly, at the third time of asking,

after twice pushing me away, Telling of her hurts

through turning pages, she kissed me in the spaces

between imprisoning words; held me tight as we

reached the end, danced through lines as if each chapter was

a roundel, ignored the signs that tragedy stalked close.

Though fate took her, I always believed she was The One.



But when the last page closed on the end of her sad story

The school bell tolled a dead march to mark

the rhythm of  her gallows dance and mock my rage.

Many years have passed since betrayal blotted out the life

she lived in my mind but she lingers still in memories;

more real than loves whose flesh enflamed briefly

my passion and filled my hungry bed.

Is it folly to love another man's creation?

Fiction may deceive but imagination cannot betray

Though time and chemistry conspire against fragile flesh

Love in the mind finds immortality, defying death

Dear Tess, while others are half  forgotten, you live on,

always young and beautiful, always my beloved.

(In case anyone missed it the Tess of the title is Tess of the d'Urbervilles. If you have not read Hardy's novel give it a try. If you have, you may remember the part Stonehenge played in the climax of the story.)