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Poem

The sun has gone to rest my babes 
I give you this last tale 
If only you will sleep my dears 
For you will I regale 

There was a man of great esteem
In wild woods afar 
No one knew his given name 
They called him Mr. Tar

They named him such for all his soul
Which some thought black as night 
He lived amongst the demons… 
Said the papist who knew right

He lived with demons, that is true
Of this you can be sure 
Awhile I walked, he found me once
And spoke about what’s pure

“There’s isn’t nothing purity,
No demons or good men
There’s only here and nowhere
Of these years now numbered ten.

“I’ve never known a Saint,
And I’ve known a many man
My rotting soul sees further
Then the beggar with his can.”

“Oh how,” said I.”How do you live?
With hate like I now see
The rumors must be true, 
Yes, you’re the monster in the tree.”

“Trees,” said he and grinning wide
“I have a many friend.
They aren’t kind to most 
But they don’t mean to offend.”

“Will they hunt me?”
Said I trembling.

“They aren’t lions
He replied.
“They aren’t simple beings
As the common man’s becried

“No their business is much simpler
They aren’t animals at all
And they wish that man would notice
Just how far from God he falls.“

Sleep well my babes,
Fear not, for wicked tar’s unseemly thrall
There aren’t any trees
From which to bid you come and fall. 

Dream happily, Dream without fit
Dream quiet things of light 
But know that Mr. Tar 
Is not the one in need of right.

That man is man, and wicked
They aren’t animals at all.
They can’t be blamed for bidding
You’re to blame for every fall.

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