My Own Caterbury Tale

I, Deirdre, will no longer to Kate be slaved,

As flight of a white owl, I will flee this disheartening cave.

With parting kisses and suffered adieus,

I will depart with my patched sack and rapture anew.

To halls of ivy will I there find relief-

Acquiring fine knowledge of art and literature that I seek.

Until the bright when alive come impelled dreams

In a London artisan central will I breathe.

Educating those the arts which we both so love,

As my journalist's pen will etch words not yet tongued.

One day to find him whose amour yet unsurpassed,

And abide together always, that our plans may never cease to amass.

I am adamant to fly, yet chained to a tree,

To see the world, to understand, please, let me go and be.

“I am growing tired of bedside resolve. Public display of depression.

And I grow tired of writing songs where people listen but never hear what's really going on.”