Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Checkout (06/09/11)
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TITLE: The Brigadier and the Merchant's Daughter | Previous Challenge Entry
By Beth LaBuff
06/14/11 -
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The sun was a fierce inferno that blistered the barren way.
The wind was a dervish dancer that mesmerized her prey.
The sagebrush clung to the parched sand, atop the desert floor.
And the brigadier came drifting—
Like a tumbleweed roamed—drifting—
The brigadier came drifting, up to the merchants door.
His mount was a roan that carried the faded Johnny Reb.
The gray forage cap of a soldier was slouched upon his head.
A minié ball from a musket of a blue-coat Yankee squad
Had shredded his arm at Shiloh—
It shattered his soul at Shiloh—
When they buried his arm at Shiloh, beneath the sullied sod.
His eyes were occluded windows and his thoughts lodged faraway.
The dust caked beneath his kerchief, sweat stained his worn chambray.
He passed through the door then halted, for stocking the shelves with lace
Was the merchant's comely daughter—
Rose, the merchant's daughter—
The merchant's only daughter, coal wisps enwreathed her face.
His heart met its Appomattox, was besotted at first sight.
It was reveille to his spirit and cessation of soul blight.
The battle smoke that had haunted, now wafted from his life.
He'd entered to purchase coffee—
He bought hardtack and coffee—
Then clutching hardtack and coffee, he beseeched her to be his wife.
She noticed his faded gray cap and his sweat-stained chambray weave.
She examined his dust-caked kerchief and queried his empty sleeve.
His eyes sought hers while they pleaded, she sensed the sorrow there.
Then the merchant's comely daughter—
Rose, the merchant's daughter—
With a nod, the merchant's daughter—she tossed her coal-black hair.
The drifter added a purchase, a lace-trimmed wedding gown.
Then he married the merchant's daughter, while the parson was in town.
In the shadow of a mesa, they picnicked at high noon.
They ate hardtack with coffee—
On their makeshift honeymoon—
And the wind was a dervish dancer for the bride and the one-armed groom.
Her pledge of love to the drifter emancipated his heart,
Held sway by the wind-blown dancer, they saw a serpent dart.
It struck with the speed of a bullet, in the heel of his comely bride.
Its fangs were laden with venom—
As the bridegroom eyed the puncture—
Like a bayonet to his own soul, his heart within him died.
He reached for his muzzle-loader, with one arm loaded lead.
He aimed then he pulled the trigger, He shot the rattler—dead.
The dust of the wind-blown desert, seeped through the bridal lace
Of the gown of the merchant's daughter—
Rose, the merchant's daughter—
The wind danced with coal-black tresses across her ashen face.
He made one final purchase, as the sun was ebbing down.
Then he carried the merchant's daughter to the plot at the edge of town.
The strike from the deadly viper had stilled her coal-black locks.
He buried his love at sunset—
Entombed his soul at sunset—
He buried the merchant's daughter in a rough-hewn pinewood box.
They say on a summer's noonday, on the blistered barren way.
When the wind is a dervish dancer that mesmerizes prey.
When the sagebrush clings on the parched sand, atop the desert floor,
That the brigadier comes drifting—
Drifting—drifting—
The brigadier comes drifting, up to the merchants door.
His mount is a roan that carries the faded Johnny Reb.
The gray forage cap of a soldier is slouched upon his head.
He walks through the door then he stops short, for stocking the shelves with lace
Is the merchant's comely daughter—
Rose, the merchant's daughter—
The merchant's only daughter, coal wisps enwreathe her face.
***
—with apologies to Alfred Noyes – The Highwayman—
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It deserves to score well.
If this doesn't make the EC list, I will be very surprised.
Gotta be a winner!!