At best, you are St. John.
At worst, Mr. Huntingdon,
When you need me, which you will,
I will be walking the moors.
This wild hair in another time is not as wild.
I set pen to paper day after day
after day after day.
I will write sense into this world
If it takes me the rest of my life,
Which it may.
Because there’s a madwoman in the attic
And you are Mr. Rochester
And I, Jane.