Strolling under harbor lights, Lilja reads a line
‘Poor Tatiana’
In another library, Rochester arrives 
Oh lord, he’s half-blind
Lancelot and Guinevere came nowhere near the pier
No love this year
Marian called Robin Hood to save her from the sea
But words are cheap 

Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done
And Lilja heard but wonder’s thunder
All the books she read kept her in bed and hurt her head 
Her tragic flaw was not a blunder 

Percival got [bad word] and tossed his cup into the snow
Where’d the grail go? 
Catherine found her Heathcliff but the Brontes died alone
Air gets so cold 
Wind revives the balladeers sentenced to their words
Fog means return
For the bards and troubadours, sentences are worlds
We long but don’t learn 

Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done
And Lilja heard but wonder’s thunder
All the books she read kept her in bed and hurt her head 
Her tragic flaw was not a blunder 

Teeter totter by the harbor, Lilja looked up saw a starfish
Holding her hand was Ophelia, 
Smith, Elliot; Plath, Sylvia 

Stories had been spun, a sea of metaphors were done
But Lilja lived her blunder thunder
All the books she read put her to rest on a seabed
Her tragic flaw still makes me wonder