In cloak and hat and glasses,
He stepped and leapt from shade to tree
And whispers as he passes.
We came upon, the sneak and I,
A third man in the ditch
Mugged or stabbed or well run-down,
I couldn't tell you which.
Alarmed we were, the spy and I,
To that I can attest,
By the bruises on the third man's head
And the cuts upon his breast.
"Go send for the doctor and the preacher as well,"
The hidden man's nod did imply.
And seeing the paranoid by the came-to-harm,
I gladly ran off to comply.
When I returned, their senses had left them
The injured lay dead under cloak
The sneak, in his skivvies, was stuck in the boughs,
Hiding, I think, though we never spoke.
Beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly,
There's a lesson if you'd like to hear it-
If you're scared or unlucky, stay quiet and home,
Wherever you're heading, it's right that you fear it.
DESTINATION, n. The stop past your station.
Happy birthday eve to Actonbell!
16 comments:
First. And TOMORROW is Acton's b-day. I'm,like, so sure. (It's a locationary, and I was there.)
Great poem. Not at all sure that I understand exactly what it is that you fear, but I really like the poem.
Anyway it's the journey, not the destination that one needs to pay attention to. Everyone's destination is death. Heaven in your case.
Good gravy, TLP. How could I have thought it was Thursday while I'm sitting there trying to write verse for Wednesday? You raise exemplary daughters but sort of dim blogsons.
OMGosh, Doug. Was this supposed to be tomorrow's post! Or is it? Then I am sorry I missed today. I could have thought more about your neat poem for tomorrow.
Today was my destination, shucks. I live day-by-day for the most.
..
Jim, if this is Wednesday, and I'm starting to feel like Papa Buendia after he lost his mind, then the post is for today except for the last sentence which was for tomorrow.
For some tomorrow never comes.
DESTINATION, n. - Life
as i walked the streets of laredo
i realised
i have no idea where i'm going
or what it all means
Doug today's any day you want it to be. Isn't that part of the journey being the destination?
TLP ssys heaven? Something tells me she knows what she speaks
The only thing I know for certain that when I am lost and seek a map, my destination is never the little red, "you are here" X.
Happy Birthday eve to Actonbell!
destination: The least important part of the trip.
Well, if Doug isn't going to heaven, I can't imagine who is. Of course, I won't be seeing him there. I'm going to heck. In a hand basket.
I know that this is a good poem, because I've thought about it several times today.
happy birthday Actonebell.. later or early...
A Lonesome Dover you are
destination: Wherever the red-line gets stuck this time.
Thom, now what do I do?
Tilden, look through the window and see if you spy a young cowboy dressed in white linen as cold as the clay.
Pia, TLP's a frisbeetarian. Heaven is a rooftop to be stuck on.
Ain't that the truth, Quilly?
Actonbell, I love it. "Heaven for climate, Laredo for society?" For now I'm saying yup.
Thanks, Karen.
Poobah, technically not even part of the trip, really.
TLP, I think I mystified us both.
Cooper, a Lonesome Dover I have been and will remain. We have a red line like that, too.
Got me...it's your turn LOL
Happy belated birthday to Actonbell!
There's a lady I know in P.A.
Who can read, write or run the long day.
Her major repentence-
The long run-on sentence-
Of all things should have seemed o.k.
For she's a jolly good fellow
For she's a jolly good fellow
For she's a jolly good fell ...low ...
And so say all of us!
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