Charlotte Bronte

The wind, the wild and the darkness

captures completely her silent soul.

They blow across her chalk-like skin

like pebbles dashed on limestone coves.

Captures completely her silent soul,

her hopes as soft as muslin cloth,

spread sparsely on the fragrant moors,

their romance rustling like restless rain.

Her hopes as soft as muslin cloth,

delicate as the blustered berries

that spread their ink-like cloaks

like clouds on precious perfumed paper.

Delicate as the blustered berries,

sundew, cranberry, pink bell heather,

winding their way across the moors,

her footsteps soft on their cushioned carpet.

Sundew, cranberry, pink bell heather,

they blow across her chalk-like skin,

then scatter like snowy flurries.

The wind, the wild, the darkness.