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a noble tragic figure,
bedraggled, thwarted
in love, his heart on
permanent loan to another.
in the jaws of a passion
that tosses him
around like a toy.

his memory stalks the moors
they walked together
in wild abandoned weather;
and his thoughts trail her steps
on the sunlit paths of security.

she broke him like a horse,
bent him to her wilfulness,
then blithely skipped away.
she trapped him
in the pages of her heart:
he is a rose bloom
pressed in her past.

now he wanders abroad,
steeped in bitterness,
a reproach forever on his lips,
but he never can be free,
for he is hers now
and ever shall be.

Photo of Laurence Olivier in 1939 Wuthering Heights from Pinterest here and video of the wonderful Kate Bush performing ‘Wuthering Heights’ in 1977.