Why the Little Doe Loves Loralie
I close my eyes,
But not to summon rest 'gainst the full bosom of sleep;
Left a-maze a field of numberless sheep.
Close eyed—I can sometimes still see
The licking flames hungrily surrounding me
Yet frail, ere newly born and meek
Death comes to our little glade
From whence does it seek?
Our gentle souls seemest yet unripe to reap,
Each our reflection, afire in the glinting blade
Yet, praise the power that forbade!
I close my eyes yet again,
But not to summon rest 'gainst the full bosom of sleep
But to weep—
Like a babe, rescued midst the blackened ferns—
Like a babe, heard crying as her forest burns—
Smoke stings the eyes
As each, a new found friend dies.
No, these are not the whys
That I close my eyes,
Tho' terrible things, I realize
This is only where part of my truth lies
'Twas long ago, I lost my home;
'Twas long ago I was set to roam,
Long ago you dried a tear,
Of a poorly doe—lost, hungry, the prey of fear,
Promising tomorrow would be of better cheer
And led me follow about the rear.
Pillowed before a stony hearth
Back I felt, as returning from a ruined earth
Where memory was of dire tragedy giving birth
And more and more, I felt the pain,
A life of hurt I could not sustain
Left to wander an unfeeling rain
Indifferent, yet seeming of rare disdain
The world, all and all seemed a bitter thing
Where soared cruelty on the burning wing
Life seemed to me
Futility
Till the gods found their mercy,
Midst their shame and complicity
Did they not see me suffering,
Midst their godly meddling and muttering,
Or merely turned on high, a blind eye,
Hoping that I and my troubles would die?
And yet, I thank which ever sought to try
And charged sympathy look where I lie
I'm thankful for you Loralie
Angel dropt from the heavens high
That cared not leave me by the by
I give my thanks to you Loralie
This chance of tears of joy to cry
And of my love, for you, Loralie
That placed the light of hope
Before my darkened eyes
Praise be you, for helping me cope
To raise my lowered head toward the skies
Tho' pale, I see there the eagle as it flies
It urges mine own spirit, fly!
The clouds seemest nebulous and dry:
White—where below slides the roaming shade
Where you and I frolic about the glade
Rosies and posies, 'mongst nature's brimming aid
A couch of grass where we lie
And I beside you Loralie
'Twould seem a heaven not as high
And you, an earthly angel, Loralie
Where 'gainst thy bosom, harkens the calling sunrise
Hence I, Thy little doe, thankful and teary-eyed,
Opens her eyes.
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