Inge på London Bridge

With a little help from my friend: GPT-4 og Byron, om min smukke fru Inge, som jeg nu har været gift med i mere end 53 år.

Upon the bridge of London town,
In twilight's soft embrace,
A radiant nymph of beauty crowned,
Awakens to its grace.

Her form enwrapped in Burberry,
Inge stands with love's delight,
A blooming rose, a mother-to-be,
A vision in the twilight.

As Thames, that ancient river flows,
Beneath the bridge it glides,
Her countenance with joy bestows,
A fondness that confides.

For in her womb, a life anew,
Young Bjarke stirs with glee,
With expectation, hearts imbue,
A future soon to be.

Her lover, Karl Iver, his heart enthralled,
Captures this fleeting scene,
His love, his muse, his world installed,
Upon this mortal screen.

With tender touch, his fingers trace,
The curve of her fair cheek,
His love, a brush, her smile, his grace,
A masterpiece unique.

As stars above with envy gaze,
Upon this hallowed pair,
Their love ignites, their hearts ablaze,
A fire beyond compare.

For on this bridge, their lives entwined,
A moment etched in gold,
A tale of love, forever signed,
In Byron's verse, retold.