Bryan Norton Poet Epic

Oliver, a Boy Part 2

Welcome back my weary friends
I promise you this story ends
But not before your time flies through
A tale with a horse or two...

On streets of cobblestone and gray
Where beggars sleep and orphans play
The aged, sick and nearly dead
Are buried with the underfed

The costermongers ply their ware
To passersby who linger there
While orphan children learn to pick
A pocket with a silly trick

Aristocrats in tops and tails
Avoid the class that tips in jails
But painted ladies know the horse
That pulls the Master from the course

Though Seraphine had made her start
By thinking quick and acting smart
She should have known that few survive
Or live to leave when they arrive

The parlor maids knew she was right
But Master Bean begrudged her flight
And sent the bobbies on a chase
To rescue him from his disgrace

They found her dripping in the rain
And bound her ankles with a chain
To bring her back to Master Bean 
And punishment by Mr. Green

When Seraphine was black and blue
And seething from a whack or two
They locked her door and walked away
And blocked her more to make her pay

The vengeful Bean could only see
Potential loss of property
And so he laid a nasty plan
To profit by the maid who ran . . .

On Sunday Seraphine was freed
To join the fun that servants need
For English tea and idle talk
For Battledore and Shuttlecock

As Seraphine began to play
Somebody smacked the bird away
Before the face of Master Bean
To settle on the head of Green

She turned as if to run away
But something bigger blocked the way
That made her faint and hit the ground
Before an object large and round

A gentle breeze came blowing by
To brush her face and sing the sky
A misty blush of twilight rose 
In melody of sweet repose

The rounder man who bent and smiled
Was recognized as Mr. Wilde
Who raised the maiden vertically
And spoke apologetically

He howled a curse at Master Bean
While growling worse at Mr. Green
Which thus amused the servant staff
Who much abused were prone to laugh 

To Seraphine, the maiden sweet
He taught the joy of happy feet
To make her glad and help her see
A better life was meant to be

She knew that he behaved that way
To fluff her bed with tender hay
But she would not be stalked by Bean
Nor let herself be frocked by Green

Although in fact she had no choice
She did not run or raise her voice
Because she knew that no one sane
Could stay with Bean and not complain 

She walked a course through every room
Which otherwise would be her doom
But now she didn't seem to care
About a shriek or angry glare

She packed a set of duffel bags
With uniforms like cleaning rags
Because she couldn't pay the price
To buy some clothing warm and nice

She packed a jar of jam she made
With cuts of ham and marmalade
To make the manor master mad
In spite of all the food he had

A carriage proposal made Seraphine wary
To have and to hold on the way to get merry
When Wilde requested her hand in his carriage
She didn't foresee it would lead to her baggage

In time when the carriage was ready and full
And stocky white horses were ready to pull
The staff were assembled to wish her goodbye
They blew her a kiss and she started to cry . . .

To be continued in "Oliver, A Boy Part 3"

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