He saw old Komarovsky eyeing his Lara
while her clear blue eyes pleaded to him for rescue,
and he turned away.

And later that night she did not stop by
to talk, cry, and light a candle till dawn,
for her sweet Pasha was indignant,
and his silence rang out more loudly
then the screams she could not utter against the old lawyer.

So, dear knight, you're off to fight a war?
"I battle for the glory of the Crown,
not of the lady," and though Pasternak
tells otherwise, was the dear boy
out to rid the world of the corruption
that would touch his lady?
Or was he out chasing causes,
building himself the image of Strelnikov,
being martyred, the glory of God to his name?

And the lady, she stayed home,
father, mother, friend to her children.
Would you blame her for finally pulling the gun
on the old man, and all other old men who would come
knocking on her door? But old Komarovsky lived;
in her gentleness she could not complete the task,
and her lips twisted at the irony of her knight
far away, battling and ridding the world of a
thousand Komarovskys while she fought on her own.

She found no Zhivagos;
in fact, her life was rather bland and peaceful,
and if the tale spoke correctly, Zhivago
would have surrendered her again
when the old man came knocking.

What's the use of husbands?
But grand Strelnikov returned to her
one fine evening. Too late, though he did
find her.

"No, Monsieur de Bergerac, my dear Cyrano,"
she answered. "I have loved one man
and lost him just once; let the knight rest in peace
that he has fought gallantly for his cause,
his Crown, as I have fought for mine.
The children are grown, and this convent
is my comfort. You have fought for His glory;
you have been martyr, and for Him you would die.
Leave this old soldier to live for the Throne."