By Michael P. Bernstein

This poem is based on Emily Bronte’s “Wuthering Heights”

A cold wind blew across the moors
And heather grew on hills
A tale of love, I have to tell
A tale of clashing wills.

Mr. Earnshaw found a poor waif
Brought him to this place
Treated him as a second son
Gave him warmth and space.

When at first to Wuthering Heights
The new young man did come
Catherine and Hindley, the children
Said, “Go where you came from!”

Catherine began to love this boy
Heathcliff, his only name
Hindley severely taunted him
And made him feel true shame.

After the kindly father died
Living became much worse
Head of household was Hindley, now

Heathcliff’s life was a curse.
No more a son, a servant now
Hindley treats him like dirt
A stable boy he was to be

Swallowing fear and hurt.
Heathcliff kept his love a secret
For Catherine, he did care
Feelings of love she had for him
Though other thoughts they shared.

Heathcliff was below her station
She could not marry him
She wanted a man of great wealth
It was more than just a whim.

One day Heathcliff overheard her
Edgar she talked about
Heathcliff wanted to run away
He would take any route.

When he returned to English shore
A rich man now was he
A man of power he became
Catherine he came to see.

He thought about her ev’ry day
His love was deep and grew
Her marriage upset him greatly
He wanted her anew.

It was too late for them to love
She could not leave her mate
She could not go away with him
Edgar was now her fate.

Wealth was nothing to Heathcliff then
He wanted only her
But he married Isabella
The marriage caused a stir.

Heathcliff was nasty, cold, and mean
His wife had much regret
Meanwhile Catherine died in childbirth
The haunting mood was set.

Catherine’s ghost was frequently seen
Heathcliff stayed by her grave
There he poured out his tortured soul,
Was known to cry and rave.

His misery went on and on
Heathcliff could find no peace
His sickly son brought him no joy
His haunting would not cease.

Toward the end he did grow mellow
He tried to set things right
In a new will that he did draw
Before he died that night.

Heathcliff’s and Catherine’s souls entwined
In death as not in life
True happiness was found by them
As ghostly man and wife.