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