|
Karen |
|
In the annals of then, now long remote |
|
A wench dug bones in ancient earth |
|
Finding a stone sharp and tail of a goat |
|
You say, now, what is the worth |
|
The worth is found in the science |
|
Not in the gold coin or weight of a pound |
|
But in the sisterhood and friendly alliance |
|
In the tavern late; raising the last round |
|
When she leaves, wrapped stately and sound |
|
When a bolt of white linen her body to keep |
|
It is the humanity that she has found |
|
The black cheroot held in her lips as she sleeps |
|
Raise one last round and remember her well |
|
She was an individual, curious and daring and bold |
|
Fearing no heaven and certainly no hell |
|
She is a tribute to man, she’s human I’m told |
|
©9/3/10Terry Sutherland |
Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
