On Wuthering Heights

No two creatures that roamed those moors

Could ever such a fate afford.

Passion that to earth could not be bound,

A cry that would not make a sound.

Four eyes two lips one soul,

An infinite embrace.

The winds be cold and the nights be long,

But fire sings the lover’s song.

The kitchen is warm, the dogs are sleep,

For death, for her, he would always weep.

Four eyes two lips one soul,

An infinite embrace.

Eighteen years can a woman make,

Eighteen years can ghosts awake.

Ay, for haunting he did plead,

For his soul, his life did bleed.

Four eyes two lips one soul,

A kiss.

In one grave fits a wild heart,

But in two graves, lovers will not part,

They are the storms and icy gale,

They are the fire and distant wail.

They are as they always meant to be,

One for all eternity.

I scribbled this little poem after reading Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights.

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