T W E L V E

She’d several doubts
Clouding about
Conspiracies as such,

And even though
They were high blown
They still displeased her much.

For since she’d met
That heavyset
Round shouldered forest man,

She couldn’t bat
The feeling that
Something was underhand.

She knew the songs,
She sang along,
She knew the poems too,

But in the thick
Of limericks
Was nothing of cuckoos.

Or lavish deals,
Or things concealed
Beneath an old motif,

Or changing course
Towards the source
Of seminal beliefs:

For they’d resolved,
In days of old,
To spread their elements,

And not to cower
Beneath the bower
Of old provincial tents.

And though they praised
A homeland raised
Amidst the trees of Eden,

She knew her tribe
Had since ascribed
To other forms of reason.

Once leveled foes
Who did oppose
Their elders’ wanderings,

And smoothed a patch
For them to hatch
And fetch up future kin.

And long ago
Endured the glow
Of raw light from above,

That changed more space
Than distance traced
Could ever have removed.

But recently
An urgent breeze
Had blown up from the clans,

And word took flight
About the plight
Of sacred holy lands.

More banded to
These rabid views,
Until it caused concern,

And even those
Without the prose
Began to urge return.

But no one knew
Where this was to,
So passions once more fell,

Until that fool
Went trading tools
Beyond the furthest well.

And though it cast
Some years past,
Amongst the forest deep,

Their plan’s slow pull
Had twined until
Its catch was set to keep.

And so she sat
With these contrasts
Campaigning for her vision,

Unable to
Contently view
The outcome of the mission.

But waiting for
Her lover’s call
To say it was a dream,

Recalled he’d gone
To meet the man
Who’d come up with the scheme.

And why was he
The one to be
The bearer of bad tidings?

Because, was he,
Who’d crossed the fields
To where their home was hiding,

And was the first
To be accursed
By prospects from woods folk,

And last to leave
The traders’ eaves
With news she feared the most.