The Dark-Eyed Rival
Groomed for George Chapman's
Parnassus on Hitchin Hill,
she smiled over my 'Please, sir! ' shoulder.
her pages of score unstained
by my flailings to Led Zeppelin.
Google was made for dark-eyed rivals.
In belated laurels I wondered.
I plod past her eyrie
to the South Bank. She cradles
varnished rosewood, and thrums her bow.
'Better than you'.