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Thursday, July 1, 2010

Sweet Dove, Brave Lark

My first commissioned poem, written about our darling goatlings at the request of a member of their new family. I have gotten her permission to share. 










Sweet Dove, Brave Lark 
by Fenway Bartholomule
An April morn, Bent Barrow Farm, the sun in streaming rays.
A restless doe walks to and fro, aware yet unafraid.
She knows as every mother knows that something has begun,
And looking on, the mule observes and waits for what shall come.
The hours pass and then at last the doe turns round to see—
Beside her lie two little forms! Two heads, four ears, eight feet.
The first springs up on restless legs—look out, world, Lark's here! 
The second rests to catch her breath. She's sweet, that Dove, and dear.
Lark boldly leaps upon the teat and draws a milky sip.
Dove staggers and attempts to rise at mom's insistent lick.
While Lark then tries exploring, ready for some fun and games,
Sweet Dove at last stands for a meal and tries out trembling legs.
It's not too long before the farmwife summons someone new,
A visitor, a friend who's promised shelter for the two.
She comes and greets her little twins, still less than one day old,
And promises the darling goats a home once they have grown. 
So bashful Dove and bold, brave Lark begin, so they set out—
And as the days turn into weeks their characters come out. 
Lark seeks adventure everywhere, treats life as one great game,
And Dove, as pretty as the dawn, is quiet, sweet and tame.
Lark bullies every chicken and plays freeze tag with the mule,
her sister Dove reclines beside their mother, keeping cool.
When Dove cavorts, she moves with grace, she dances in the light,
And Lark gambols with brazen strength, and summits awesome heights.
So Beauty lives alongside Spirit, together these two grow,
The mule looks on while Lark and Dove learn what they need to know.
They learn to play, to take their turn, to ruminate and ponder,
They learn to heed their mother, eat what's healthy, keep their wonder.
With ten weeks passed, they've gotten big. Their tired dam is ready
To bid farewell to brave, kind Lark and Dove, serene and steady.
The mule draws near and brays farewell, the farmwife brings them out.
The family gathers, says goodbye. "Be good," the children shout. 
A truck pulls up, and out step those who'll see them through transition.
Two people, ready, eager, and the doelings stop and listen.
"We'll shelter you, we'll cherish you, we'll keep you safe and happy,"
The people seem to say to them, and so the goats leave gladly.
A bumpy ride, a clean new shed, a tasty flake of hay—
Sweet Lark and Dove arrive at home, the home where they shall stay.
New friends, new games, new scenery and many smiling faces—
Sweet Dove and Lark have landed in the very best of places.
And so it goes, and so they grow, and so they learn to love
The people in their fine new home, who cherish Lark and Dove.
And so they play, and so they rest, and so they pass their days—
And back at old Bent Barrow Farm, their dam with mule shall stay. 

3 comments:

  1. Wow, beautiful poem, Fenway! You know, our nation has a new Poet Laureate, just appointed. However, the position is only held for a year or two, I believe. I don't think there's anything in the rules that says the Poet Laureate has to be human, so- who knows what the future may hold for you.....

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  2. Poet Muleate ? A lovely poem!

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  3. : ) and now I regret staying away from the internet for a few days! Elegant poem, Fenway! Thank you!

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