Pushkin's Shadow
She told me she loved Pushkin
and yet somehow, she loved me
my gentle heart and purple prose
made her think of Mister P
Awash in florid idioms
and romantic imagery,
my modest little poems
drew this blazing star to me
For her, I wrote of Helen
and the conquerors of Troy,
for her, I wrote of passion
and of my unbridled joy
I poured my heart, my very soul
into each word and verse,
but genius is an albatross
of which I've not been cursed
Alas, I am no radical
and I'd never fought a duel,
so it wasn't long she saw my work,
provided little fuel
And so, the shadow of Eugene
eclipsed what I'd beguiled
and I retreated, as I would,
while Pushkin's ghost just smiled
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