She knew she didn’t fit his style
of ‘Lord of manor’ glory days
Inhabiting such stately pile
whilst all beneath must tend their ways
 
Tug your forelock, yield with grace.
Saluting to the ‘Man of Means’
Who rules this huge, symbolic place
with rod of iron, whilst he preens.

Her memories of times way back
When love was sweet with expectation
Sadly note that hairline cracks
Break into scenes of confrontation
 
She's well aware of truth that’s shown,
in tumbling mass round shuttered ears
Roofs are crumbling, walls are blown.
A drama that will end in tears
 
Rebuff of sound advisory,
refusal to accept all fact
Thus losing credibility
but acts as though it’s all on track
 
Pah! Patch it up or fix for free
is all it takes to stem the flow
Of tempest’s new catastrophe!
 
The master barks at those below

 
So by and by the long years pass
And Lord le Fool ignores the rift
Hence left with sad fragmented mass
All sense and reason set adrift
 
The casualty of this sad affair
Abider of the heedless dreamer
Now must take stock and take care
That common sense becomes redeemer

 Note: A 'stately pile' is an English term for a grand old house.