Based upon an entry in the mid-19th Century autobiography of Presbyterian Theodore Clapp, who lived for several decades in New Orleans, Louisiana.
Of the many young brides who I’ve married,
None were more exquisite than her.
Her pleasant charm, and smile so merry,
Both made my old heart stir.
Her fiancé loved her deeply
And she cherished him like no other.
Her father gave her away happily,
In front of her joyful mother.
In the afternoon wedding her vows were said,
While a bouquet in hand she carried.
Their reception next was well-attended,
like many young couples that I have married.
A few hours later, she fell deathly ill.
Then suddenly, she no longer stirred.
Later that night, in her wedding dress still,
And with bouquet in hand, she was interred.
Deep within her family sepulcher
Remain four questions unanswered.
Why then? Why her?
What purpose was served?
And how does one assuage the ones who loved her?
its time to combind
everyone shine get on line
and clapp there hands
to the love band
get up and shout
do it without a doudt
so its peace we all seek
this is no de coy
we meat bring
JOY
The rooster crows at the break of dawn.
I rise to write a poetic song.
A look through the window,
and I hear someone shout!
What brings' you to the Big Apple.
I say, I came,
by the way of the creator.
Then I replied with a night out on the town.
I look and observed all around.
I seen with my eyes',
even though I was deprived of sleep.
As the crowds gather in the streets.
The crowds begin to applaud.
I joined in and started to clapp,
as these talented brothers and sisters,
was chanting their art of rapp.
I continue to stand,
as the crowds' expand.
What a treat
it was watching
these brothers and sisters
break dance.
I observed and learned
knowing someday it'll be my turn
to express a poetic song.
These brothers and sisters
sure can chant the art of rapp,
and not only that by chance.
These talented brothers and sisters,
can perform the art of the break dance.
I look through the window,
at the break of dawn.
A rooster crows,
as I write a poetic song.
I hear someone shout!
What brings' you to the Big Apple.
I said , I came,
by the way of the creator.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.