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[during the last two minutes, or so, of the

Second Movement of Chopin's Second

Piano Concerto]

Even my mother's vengenace, in rejection
of his love, did not quench his real affection
for me.  The only father figure known
to me:  his love was chaste, always paternal,
and offered with the utmost of devotion---
not like my mother's rage, wildly infernal,
toward him and me, when she took to the notion
that we had entered some conspiracy
against her, and that our protests were mere lies.
Her harsh words cut us both right to the bone:
but could not sever nor destroy the bond
we shared.  My letters, signed as "Solange Sand"
reminded him of times shared happily,
of summers at Nohant and better days.
And he said, just before he died, my gaze
showed him the beauty of my mother's eyes.

Starward