For My Hawk And Playmate - To My True Kindred Spirit - Part Iii Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

...as we get to the river
still holding hands tight,
and in stitches our livers
at evening's last light.
We are happy out here
now we welcome the moon.
Will the darkness bring fear?
Will the trouble come soon?
As we've asked no permission
here to wander about
who will make the decision
to order us out?
And formidable weapons
hide in darkness with glee
to ensure something happens
that will not let us be.
Can they read our thoughts,
can they judge our deeds?
Are they aiming their venom
as they hide in their weeds?
And I ask you to ponder
why those strangers would care,
so it should make you wonder
why this life is not fair.
So, I'll tell you, my darling,
it's the fact that we like
to be living with Nature
and that's why they strike.
We are happy and humble
and we live in a hut,
where we hear the earth rumble
and achievers we're not.
Let the silver, the gold
please the shallow pretenders,
let them fit their strange mould
as their soul there surrenders.
Let them strive after riches,
let them build more sky castles,
let their women be bitches,
let their men live their hassles.
Fill their wardrobes with dresses
and with thousands of shoes,
let them live in their messes,
let US DANCE OUR BLUES.
What they don't have: it smarts
when at last they discover,
that of stone are their hearts,
that they don't have a lover.
But for us, my sweet flower
that is NO life to live,
where one fills every hour
just with give, take and give.
When there's groans, turns and tosses
in their silken bedcovers,
they are dreaming of losses -
not hugging their lovers.
So you ask why they're coming,
why they mean us great harm,
why the warlords are drumming
in a state of alarm.
So I tell you, my darling,
it's the envy of man:
You will always find snarling
if snarling they can.
They can't stand our love
and detest that we're free.
As the Gods know above:
It's the truth they don't see.

Lenchens Response:





Come dance with me
In the moon lights glow,
Whispers of magic
The elf beams sow.
Blind eyes cannot see
What their heart cannot feel,
Alone in this glade
Our passions are real.
Come sing with me,
Silken air of the night,
Cushion our steps,
But not in flight,
We dance for ourselves,
Not the pleasures of man,
We dance the figures,
First piped by Pan.
Note follows note
The reel still beguiles
Our footsteps to follow
The path of a smile.