Post by Hideous Dwarf on Sept 25, 2008 7:29:53 GMT
I wrote this on January 3rd 1998, the very night the event occurred, and every word of it is true. I know it's a bit silly but I was really hurting that night and I'm still not sure why it affected me so badly. The other odd thing is that the lines just flowed onto the paper as though someone else was dictating them to me and I only had to make a few very minor alterations later. The power of raw emotion can be asonishing.
The Death of a Friend
She came each day at half past ten,
Or twelve, or two, or now and then,
But every day, come rain or shine,
She came to visit or to dine
On corn, such simple tastes, but then
She was a rather simple hen.
For nine long years, or maybe more,
One corner of the workshop floor
Was marked “reserved” for one small hen;
One silly, little spotted hen.
And if I chanced to be about
The grounds she'd come and seek me out
To stamp her feet and squawk her claim
For food. But every day she came.
Remember when the buzzard wheeled
Above and thirty chickens squealed
Their terror ‘neath the wings of death
And one exhaled it's final breath?
Left, twenty nine to flap and flee
To barn and bower - She came to me,
Or when the young fox came to deal
A deadlier hand to win a meal.
He came to feast, He came to mock
And rip the flesh from half the flock;
He came in daylight o'er the lea.
They ran to hide - She ran to me.
She came for comfort, or for corn,
Or just to share the summer's morn.
She came for me to calm her fears;
She came each day for nine long years.
‘Twas dawn of January third
When I beheld a dying bird
Whose many years were now her curse.
By afternoon she was the worse
And faltered ‘neath my gentle hand.
By evening she could hardly stand.
When shadows overcame the light
I knew she couldn't last the night:
Knew then that when the dark devours
Hope, then, in the solemn hours,
Death would come - death, cold as stone
To take her in the dark, alone.
I left her then, my soul to meld
With courage that the bottle held.
I drank, my cowardice to drown,
Returning when the sun was down.
I held her in my trembling hands;
Prayed long that she would understand;
I cursed myself and cursed the day
And quickly sent her on her way.
I held her tight till she was still
And shivered with the winter's chill.
With torch and precious load held tight
I hurried out into the night
To climb up high into the fell,
Into a wind-torn, rain-lashed hell .
That touched me not nor roused the fears
Of one who stumbled through his tears.
I laid her in a sheltered lee,
The root-hole of a fallen tree
And left her where the cold wind moans,
Protected by a cairn of stones.
Now laugh, you clowns, at this absurd
Who wept to lose a silly bird.
Laugh loud, but grant me leave to tend
A grave, and mourn a special friend.
The Death of a Friend
She came each day at half past ten,
Or twelve, or two, or now and then,
But every day, come rain or shine,
She came to visit or to dine
On corn, such simple tastes, but then
She was a rather simple hen.
For nine long years, or maybe more,
One corner of the workshop floor
Was marked “reserved” for one small hen;
One silly, little spotted hen.
And if I chanced to be about
The grounds she'd come and seek me out
To stamp her feet and squawk her claim
For food. But every day she came.
Remember when the buzzard wheeled
Above and thirty chickens squealed
Their terror ‘neath the wings of death
And one exhaled it's final breath?
Left, twenty nine to flap and flee
To barn and bower - She came to me,
Or when the young fox came to deal
A deadlier hand to win a meal.
He came to feast, He came to mock
And rip the flesh from half the flock;
He came in daylight o'er the lea.
They ran to hide - She ran to me.
She came for comfort, or for corn,
Or just to share the summer's morn.
She came for me to calm her fears;
She came each day for nine long years.
‘Twas dawn of January third
When I beheld a dying bird
Whose many years were now her curse.
By afternoon she was the worse
And faltered ‘neath my gentle hand.
By evening she could hardly stand.
When shadows overcame the light
I knew she couldn't last the night:
Knew then that when the dark devours
Hope, then, in the solemn hours,
Death would come - death, cold as stone
To take her in the dark, alone.
I left her then, my soul to meld
With courage that the bottle held.
I drank, my cowardice to drown,
Returning when the sun was down.
I held her in my trembling hands;
Prayed long that she would understand;
I cursed myself and cursed the day
And quickly sent her on her way.
I held her tight till she was still
And shivered with the winter's chill.
With torch and precious load held tight
I hurried out into the night
To climb up high into the fell,
Into a wind-torn, rain-lashed hell .
That touched me not nor roused the fears
Of one who stumbled through his tears.
I laid her in a sheltered lee,
The root-hole of a fallen tree
And left her where the cold wind moans,
Protected by a cairn of stones.
Now laugh, you clowns, at this absurd
Who wept to lose a silly bird.
Laugh loud, but grant me leave to tend
A grave, and mourn a special friend.