The Last Tomten
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Little friend
I have tried my best
Here in this cathedral of pines
Too much red stain ...
Too much of your warm blood
Has run to melt the snow
I have bound your wounds, tight and sure
But it is too late, little friend
Your face is white
No more rose in your chin and nose
No more warmth in your tiny hands
As they grasp my arm, pleading.
It was a hunter's bullet that found you, little friend
In the woods to cut a tree, I heard it
And followed your little prints
Such a horrid mistake
In such a glorious emerald forest
And on the eve of the longest, dearest holiday
There is no justice in life, little friend
And my heart is so heavy ... so heavy
For I could not find you in time
And now your eyes find the truth of your fate in mine.
How old must you be, little friend?
I have heard the stories
Passed to me from ancestors
And I know all you have done to help me and mine
For centuries ...
Watching over us, protecting
Doing chores in the night
Saving our livestock
Keeping us safe
And with no thanks or recognition.
But I tell you now, little friend
I shall not forget you or your deeds
Nor the sparkle in your eye, begging help
And I will continue the tales, to my own
You shall not be unremembered
Your ivory beard and pointed cap
Your funny little suit
The furrows upon furrows of the centuries
Etched in your leathery cheek
And the soft melody of your voice
Though I know not, the ancient dialect.
I will place you here to rest
Deep and safe among the towering evergreens
And I shall honor you here
Always ...
Hold still, little friend ... it is not long now
Do not struggle or strain your breath
You are nearing your paradise now
Rest your eyes and let go the concerns of this world
Embrace the dreamless sleep
Take my thanks and blessings with you to peace
And those of my kin ...
You have earned it well, little friend
You have earned it ... well.
** NINTH PLACE in the "Alternative Festive Season" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Sponsor. **
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2017
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