Sins of the Father
Just a maid,just sixteen
a serving girl,a go-between
upstairs and downstairs ,her scene
'til love was to intervene;
She,so young,he,the master's son
a web of attraction,begun
one rainy afternoon,in June;
A familiar tale,oft told
of one so shy,the other bold,
an affair that hot summer long,
despair did conclude that song;
A baby came the next Spring
but sadly sans a wedding ring,
he ,departed for the Great War,
the wench and baby shown the door;
In action,the teenage swain died,
the lass,and bairn,cried and cried
the family ,their kin despised,
conscience money salved their pride;
She another was to marry,
Her boy cared for by his Granny
Ne're once more to see this first son
None alive know why this was done.
Consequences lived on from my tale
as ,an emotionally crippled male.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2010
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