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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required This is, as indicated, the 1st HALF of this fairly lengthy poem. The 2nd half had to be posted separately due to Poetry Soup's file-size limitations. No other way I could manage to make it happen... Without a cloudless sky and harvest moon that autumn evening I might have missed the figure that was slinking through the night, Darting in, from tree to tree, in search of what it deemed a means of breaking in that was completely out of sight. Despite the moon I couldn't tell if it were male or female, (with knowing so-s deduced by - how they ran, and - what they wore). All I knew was...if they'd come without corrupt intentions...I would soon be listening to them knocking on my door. Waiting easily long enough for a welcome soul to knock...I powdered up a pistol and prepared to check things out. Slipping on my nightshirt and a pair of socks and boots, I tried my best to help myself to disregard my doubt. Working to assure myself the figure that I'd seen was merely someone stopping late to bring important news, Lifting up my lamp - thereby exposing all I could - I swept the room with nervous eyes in hope of spotting clues. Somewhere - fairly close - what seemed the sound of breaking glass would tell me, quite conclusively, an uninvited guest Had made its way inside my home, and I had fingers crossed the fate that lay in store for me was not what I had guessed. Imaginations tend to foster misinformed assumptions, leading one to favor outcomes rife with needless fears, And, I...the sort who's known for seeing monsters in the dark, and prone to being petrified by oddball sounds he hears... Quickly started wondering ---- will this pistol be enough? I paused beneath the chandelier at half way down the stairs, Then, quivering as I reached the floor, I turned to face the parlor, confident the noise I'd heard had likely come from there. Making not the slightest sound, I raised my lamp up high, presuming I'd discover who'd apparently broken in... When - staring through the dimness - I would finally spot the window...the open one - in which I knew its missing glass had been. “I know you're in here, convict,” I proclaimed,” and I am armed! Show yourself, or know the fate a burglar often does!” “I am not a burglar,” came the culprit's meek reply. His very weak and trembling voice would tell me where he was. From out behind a bookcase he would slowly show himself, clutching to a chair that hid the fact that he was lame. The kid was clearly starving and was certainly not a threat, prompting me to put aside my gun and -- ask his name. “My name's Christian,” he replied...“I think my last name's Murphy. I grew up in an orphanage in a village north of Rome, But pilfering off some finer things to sell for cash, My Lord, believe me's - not the reason why I broke into your home. “The truth is, sir, my only goal's a far less worthy prize...but if that prize - and a chance for me to earn that prize - are wed... The claim I've made will be confirmed, and I would be so grateful to - rightly so - in any way - exchange my sweat for bread! “Have you any menial chores a crippled boy can do, for which perhaps a cup of milk or slice of bread are paid?” I studied him for just a bit, fin'ly comprehending how he saw the options in the offer that he'd made. Whether he'd have made his offer - had he not been caught - I could only speculate, but, based on what he'd said, What he was proposing was to - take on manual labor...any he could handle - in exchange for - being fed. “If cleaning stalls is something you're OK with,” I replied, “first thing in the morning you can earn yourself a meal. But, son...because I'm certain that you'll do a super job...I'll pay you in advance, young man. Do we have a deal?” “Cleaning stalls is fine,” he said, “but letting me eat now...before I actually do the work...and after what I've done... Shames me more than I can say, and only makes me wish that, somehow, in another instance...I could be your son.” “Any idea how old you are?” I asked him, just to know. “Well...based on what I've learned, I'm somewhere close to seventeen. My mother died as I was born - her maiden name was Murphy...a chambermaid...according to the records that I've seen. “I never knew her first name, but it started with a 'C'. A father wasn't listed, so the orphanage took me in. They taught me how to read an' write, and do some calculations, but I've been hiding out an' stealing food since I was ten!” For many years, a void - wherein my mind had housed a thirst to know the truth had challenged me to learn what had transpired That suddenly drove away the only girl I've ever loved...a member of my staff that - twenty years ago - I'd hired! Now, don't skip the grand finale, it will likely surprised you...
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