Ballad of the Young Husband
Six weeks o’ marriage, a full moon,
One night I woke alone;
I took the gun, unlatched the door,
And felt meself turn stone ―
Across the pasture ran a trail
Of footsteps in the dew,
That led toward the upper field
And then were lost to view.
The field was small and walled with trees,
I stood back on one side,
And saw ‘er dancing there alone,
All flowered like a bride.
Around ‘er naked waist a belt
Of orange poppies hung
And moved like suns above the corn
While she swayed and softly sung.
She scattered daisies as she went,
And from ‘er yellow hair
Fell campions and marigolds,
And I … I did not dare
Call from my shadows on the edge,
Or join ‘er in that dance ―
She seemed complete, entire,
And ‘appy in ‘er trance.
I gripped my gun ― what use was it?
And left ‘er singing there,
Poppy-clad beneath the moon,
With flowers in ‘er hair.
James Leader, poète