This tale is as old as the sun that goes down
In a haze of old rumors, by an old mining town
Where still they speak of the poetic justice of it all
In shy quiet voices kept respectfully small
It’s a tale of two lovers who met with their fate
A bright tale of love…a dark tale of hate
It all came to pass a long time ago, I am told
Near a town that was founded on the promise of gold
In the still of the night, as quiet as a mouse
John Larkin stole up to Drinkwater’s house
In the cold of the night, the wind cut like a knife
But Larkin thought only of Drinkwater’s wife
Drinkwater was out in the hills grubbing for gold
An unknowing part of triangle old
He slept all undreaming, the sleep of the pure
Ah… the women who are true, grow fewer and fewer
For Drinkwater had married a woman too young
Caught up by the soft silken web she had spun
With her gay lilting laughter and vows never to part
She had pulled the strings tight around Drinkwater’s heart
But Larkin was young and his silver-tongued line
Was as heady to her as the sweet red wine
The breadth of his shoulders and strength of his wrist
One look in his eyes and she couldn’t resist
For little mice play when the cat’s not about
And of course Drinkwater was far too often out
Now down in the darkness of Drinkwater’s place
Two lovers lie hearing their hearts run a race
But as sure as the red sun must set in the west
Revenge was watching them, there in their nest
For Drinkwater’s brother had learned of their love
And he hid by the spur where the range looms above
For he knew that if Drinkwater learned of their lust
It would be to his heart, a sharp knife thrust
For no one is blinder than cuckolds be
So he waited in darkness by the trunk of a tree
Dawn’s light came creeping and peeped through the door
The sunlight threw a white blanket upon the cold floor
John Larkin rose laughing, time now to be gone
See the chestnut horse waiting, the saddle goes on
His handsome face wreathed by the mist of his breath
John Larkin rides out to his meeting with death
And down by the bend, where the whitewoods grow
He lies by the road side, his face white as snow
It was an accident caused by the grim hand of fate
Was the verdict the court reached, out riding too late
Had a fall from his horse, hit his head when he fell
Drinkwater’s brother a far different story could tell!
Of course he said nothing and John Larkin’s grave
Lies now next to the hill where the sad grasses wave
In the quiet of the moon, in the grip of the wind
Visited only at night by the woman who sinned
She too said nothing, but her haunted eyes cry
In the night when she hears sad hoof beats go by
Still she walks in her dreaming, her lover beside
The pathways of memory, does Drinkwater’s bride
Author notes
This poem is based loosely on a story told to me about the circumstances surrounding a grave stone I stumbled upon near an old mining town.
A contest entry
- SHOWING SOME LOVE by Whispering Wind.
800 points, ended June 8, 2007, 29 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - PREWRITES CONTEST....PREWRITES CONTEST by Summer Dawn.
450 points, ended July 31, 2007, 24 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Dalaney Contest 7 "Old" by Sue Cardwell.
650 points, ended August 10, 2008, 10 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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A wonderful poem written so well and with such beautiful rhythm that kept the flow going nicely right to the very end. This seems to be a familiar story throughout the years and sadly, it may continue here and there. I loved it, but always wonder why it is the poor sod male who cops it! Anyway this was brilliant and certainly on par with the very best on this site. Thank you for sharing this wonderful and haunting tale.
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Very enjoyable poetry, and well worth the prize, but looking at when you wrote this and at your poetry since we think you don't really qualify as a beginner at rhyme, so next round you have to play with the big boys
Thanks a lot for the entry here though
Jeff and Sue
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This is a great poem, sad and haunting, with wonderful rhyme and rhythm to set up the imagery, so that I could almost see the tragedy unfold, and wanted to call out to John Larkin to take care! My sympathy was with the lovers, poor Mr Drinkwater should have taken better care of his bride! Good luck in the contest.
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Finally! Something with all the parts!
I could set my watch to this one, John. Was it Larkin's stone you came across? -
dont ome messing round my back door ...sundown..oh sounds a lot like country in the south here or use to be..
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Gordon Lightfoot huh? Don't mind that one!
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nice way to gain inspiration, a lovely poem created
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LENGTHY BUT GOOD I LIKE THIS....THE RYME IS GOOD AND CONSISTENT!!! I REALLY LIKE THIS ONE!!! GREAT WRITE! AND THE INSPERATION FOR THIS POEM IS GREAT....KEEP ON WRITING AND GOOD LONG IN THE CONTEST!
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Wow, I wish I could rhyme like you! This poem told such a haunting story, up until the very last stanza. Great job! Your word choice is often unconventional, which makes it interesting..."sad grasses" was quite effective.
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This style of yours trakes back so many years. Your write was great. The flow, the rhyme were nothning but a master piece.
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What a beautiful story you tell! But how sad. Excellent rhyming, good flow, nice form.
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This was a a wonderful tale; twists, turns and a bit of adventure! Excellent rhythm and flow in the read. What a pleasure to read this afternoon!
~Tia
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O' just love this...The hands of fate has turn the tides in this lovers game so goes the sadness of Drinkwater's bride
sometimes you play, you pay...Sad story and filled with emotion~Thank you so much for entering~really Like!
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A brilliant story, another tale of justice being metered out by....the hand of fate..or more, we may never know the full story, but just surmise.
Good luck in the contest..Sue
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