The Brownings
Posted: 28 Apr 2020, 07:49
The Brownings
Wasn’t Ba's life just paper, letters
and poems?
Robert wasn’t in love with her
Ba said but with her writings.
She feared disappointing him
when she was merely
a frail wife anchored to a sofa.
Yet here he was,
month after month, coaxing her
to stand, to walk, to live…
And how were they to live,
Robert with no more concept
of managing money than a fountain
with its glittering change—
but there was no turning back.
Robert’s nature was to help.
They were like vines intertwined,
supporting each other.
His love, though ardent,
wasn’t a passion like so many others’,
wine doused into a pan
dissipating in a moment’s heat.
He assured her, they would share
their lives forever, lying down
at the end together like a closing couplet
in a Shakespearean sonnet.
Wasn’t Ba's life just paper, letters
and poems?
Robert wasn’t in love with her
Ba said but with her writings.
She feared disappointing him
when she was merely
a frail wife anchored to a sofa.
Yet here he was,
month after month, coaxing her
to stand, to walk, to live…
And how were they to live,
Robert with no more concept
of managing money than a fountain
with its glittering change—
but there was no turning back.
Robert’s nature was to help.
They were like vines intertwined,
supporting each other.
His love, though ardent,
wasn’t a passion like so many others’,
wine doused into a pan
dissipating in a moment’s heat.
He assured her, they would share
their lives forever, lying down
at the end together like a closing couplet
in a Shakespearean sonnet.