“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self-respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Did you know, that July, when the horizon flickered
and the station master’s whistle scared away the crow,
did you know?

The breeze of the train and the window of steam
would signal the beginning of his everything.
You, Zelda, you with your courage and glow, were all to
him, Zelda, but didn’t you know?
By the seventh of September he gave in to love,
but you cared more for money – first money, then love.
So to you he returned with Paradise planned
and ring in the post he joined with your hand.

You flamed, how you glittered, sincerity aglow,
his golden girl, Zelda, he believed in you, though
the years or the current, they tore you apart
until only your letters could waltz with his heart.
In December he died and his funeral was small;
smaller without you; nothing at all.

In ’43 the white washed walls called you back inside.
Oh Zelda, when the flames arrived, his heart again it died.
So beat on, quiet sailing boat, they’ll talk of you and him;
of how, to Scott, you always were the start of everything.


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