A poem I wrote some years back, on love, a disapproving family, and a tragedy of murder and suicide! which I now republish on the website…
She loved not him who her father chose
A man with castle and land
Oh, no, it was but a humble serf
Who asked the daughters hand.
And to spite his pleas and all he said
And in fits of rage did fly
The fact he was her father made
No difference, she did defy.
She a girl who ne’re spoke once
A word against her fathers will
But such is the power of romance
Now she cries with anger shrill
As her love from the house is cast
Never to return shes sure
For there are men who’ve killed in the past
Waiting for him on the moor.
And so she cries and upstairs runs
As a broken woman she does feel
And her father smiles at his three strong sons
And sits down again to finish his meal.
And upstairs from a window on the roof
From the room to where the maiden fled
A figure frail emerged to display her loves proof
And she landed on the ground cold dead.
And that night at heavens gate
The lovers danced in glory
Her father was left desolate
And here ends our story.
A man may be poor and have a home small
And a girl father may not have been proud
To have a daughter as commoner call
But to see her each day he’d have been allowed.
He used murder to separate the lovers two
For nothing surmounts death
But the girl in the afterlife believed and knew
And their dancing in heaven yet.