R
Robert Harrison
Guest
Thou art as slim now as thou wer’t many summers ago,
When first I beheld thee in all the glory.
Thy head garlanded with the flowers of the Hawthorn,
White as winters driven snow.
A crown fit for any queen.
Thy skin, browned by the suns of but few summers.
Thou wer’t dressed in the greenest of gowns,
As befitting thy position.
Greener than the grass that cushioned thy feet.
I wanted thee. I needed thee and with my body
I sort to take from thy sisters, who in their loyalty
To thee did think to bar my way.
In my selfish need, in my eagerness to possess thee
I forced them aside, caring not at what injury I did cause
In my fearful anger at their reluctance to give thee up.
I took thee for mine own, from thy kin.
Some forty summers hast thou been my faithful companion,
Thou who bows thy head in salutation to thy Sire,
No grievance hast thou made in all of these years.
Thou art my aid, my support in life, and my dearest friend.
Thou art my walking stick.
When first I beheld thee in all the glory.
Thy head garlanded with the flowers of the Hawthorn,
White as winters driven snow.
A crown fit for any queen.
Thy skin, browned by the suns of but few summers.
Thou wer’t dressed in the greenest of gowns,
As befitting thy position.
Greener than the grass that cushioned thy feet.
I wanted thee. I needed thee and with my body
I sort to take from thy sisters, who in their loyalty
To thee did think to bar my way.
In my selfish need, in my eagerness to possess thee
I forced them aside, caring not at what injury I did cause
In my fearful anger at their reluctance to give thee up.
I took thee for mine own, from thy kin.
Some forty summers hast thou been my faithful companion,
Thou who bows thy head in salutation to thy Sire,
No grievance hast thou made in all of these years.
Thou art my aid, my support in life, and my dearest friend.
Thou art my walking stick.
