First Comes Ranger

In the late 1800’s working a trade well-meant I was considered different to my sorrow and detriment I thought about changing, to reinvent But, as “Ranger” (that’s me) I was content I was a mortician by trade (not held to be routine) My occupation ostracized but to me sensible and serene Nor as strange or alarming as some may deem Ghosts, spirits and the deceased frequented my dreams Providing the spiritual source that supported my prediction Everyone’s earthly departure led to a new dimension. Sadly by my late thirties I bowed to my fate Convinced I would never have a mate Absent Society’s invitations and hardly befriended Dwelling in Society’s circles for me was prevented When I turned forty my life was transformed Raven flew into my life like a raging firestorm Accepting who I was and liking every part of me We embraced the unity that was meant to be. Raven was a vibrant force, caring, and warm Full bosomed spare but very graceful in form Face exquisitely drawn and eyes like stormy dawn Tall as I with opulent lips I yearned to taste Her lustrous black hair tumbled below her waist To all except Raven I was blind We took root in each other’s soul and mind The Supreme Being whoever He or She may be Brought forth Raven I believed just for me Raven gave me joy and added meaning To my life with intense fulfilling feeling She had humor, wit, and a naughty nature She gave me pleasure Raven my cherished treasure. One day I was off to the village while Raven was relaxing She’d had a cold and her lack of rest had been taxing I planned to surprise her with a hand-crafted gift Ordered from the goldsmith with no thought for thrift As I passed Turnbull’s Tavern at the front end of town Two men crashed the doors and knocked me to the ground They fought furiously cursing rolling knives slashing I was pinned beneath pushing kicking gasping Suddenly and painfully I felt a sharp penetration In agony and disbelief there came instant recognition “Oh no,” “Raven,” I breathed, “Raven.”