Thursday, September 14, 2006

There Was

He was a'sorrowed down, n twisted down neath the witches hazel. All broke. All pounded by the grievins that left him lyin fallow. 'N his blood would'na nourish, nor his bones give succor.

He were a small lad, when he had his laddy ways. 'N he gave a leap 'n a chuckle to the mortal tired. Sittin on his granny's lap, smellin up the ancient songs. Chasin down the milk all warm 'n sweet. 'N a climbin fool, he was. Bringin down the apple fruits to lay beside his ma a'sleepin. But that was when he had his laddy ways.

That was when he were the world's pure laughin. Afore all wonder passed with melancholy. Afore the crumblin moon fell slow into the sea. He were the first joy and the last.

He was a'broke, 'neath the witches hazel. A'torn 'n casted there. Left unweeped. And there was a prayerful preacher, wanderin with his hands abloody. Covetous and reekin wrong with sin. A jealoused man, hungry with his god.

Now gone, they are, the skippin 'n the mischievin. The trickster ways, the laddy ways. The first joy and the last.


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