Dear Miss Austen

Dear Miss Austen, what heartfelt joy,

Those English lives that you employ,

To act and dance upon the stage,

Their schemes of Love they so engage.

Dear Miss Austen, how so it's true,

From out the page your Children grew,

And though the birth was yours alone,

The custom being your name unknown.

But fate;  that traitor had moved again,

To wound and still , your unfledged Pen,

To quell the themes by a talent blest,

And hush the breath within the breast.

Now- cast in stone by time inscribed,

The World does bow to England's  pride.