Today I have a new guest blogger, Penny the Poet
Penny is one of my local writer friends and we have both been going to the same writers’ group forever. Penny amuses, entertains and makes us think. She can say in a few words what most of us take thousands of words to say. ‘The Lesson’ reminds me of a folk ballad.
I must believe that he, my son, was good
He never lied, nor spoke a bawdy word.
He’d sit against a tree in yonder wood
And whistle in response to every bird
That dared to sing its song to one so still
Then fly away up and around the trees,
Able to soar and swoop at its own will
To each and every place where no-one sees
The mating rituals which, when touched by spring
The birds delight in what each union brings.
My son was just like all the birds that fly
He’d spread his wings in haste to find a mate
Betrothed, which often he’d deny
Playing with fire until it was too late.
Each maid in spring with rosy cheeks
And breasts that rose and fell, filled him with lust
Succumb she would in days and not in weeks
His true love unaware he was unjust
Till when his elsewhere pleasures reached her ears
He burnt his fingers on her pain and thus her tears.
My son now lies beneath the oak
In yonder churchyard bathed in sun.
He begged forgiveness for he broke
His true love’s heart and was undone.
A maid now carries my son’s child.
Her father, spitting feathers killed
With arrow swift my son so wild.
Lustful, carefree and strong willed
He played with fire, his fingers burned.
No longer loved and lesson learned.
Penny Cull 2019