Marney, The Story Of Poem by Ben Partenay

In the suguargum forest of the wandering way
Ran helliums and helvums and wasters at play
And all of them talked in the same sing song way
And all of them, all of them, all of them played

Some called it heaven and some called it life
Some called it sugar and some called it spice
And laughing and laughing they all called it nice
All of them, all of them, but Marney’s wife

Wellfore and hereto the happiness ends
The devils come round and round and again
And Marney is dry as a long dead friend
And all of it, all of it, all of it ends

And dear Marney’s wife she grieves with a sigh
She plants her flowers on hills near sky
And she speaked to the gubberfly up in the high
She speaked, she speaked, she speaked with a sigh

Said hellium to helvum “it’s a sickening sight
Watching this beauty that isn’t too bright
It’s darker, he said, than a garbled moon night
And laughed and laughed and laughed at the sight

But Marney’s wife stuck her thin nose in the air
Peppered her floor and salted her hair
And gave not a thought to the way that they stared
And none of them, none of them, none of them cared

He isn’t a saint she would sing before bed
While painting her lips a deep purpled red
While watching the door with her pretty eyed head
But Marney, but Marney, had up again fled

And moonbeams went by in the sugargum wood
And everyone aged as everyone should
And everyone played as much as they could
All except Marney, Marney just stood

It wasn’t a thought that crossed Marney’s mind
Not chopsticks or seashores or old father time
But a song she had sung with a lilt and a rhyme
And she sang and she sang and she sang in his mind

It wasn’t the heart that had made him run out
He said to himself while choosing his route
But all of the years, the losses and doubt
O the whose to keep in and the whose to leave out

It had taken him years and taken him long
But he’d chosen his path with a skip and a song
Known all the moons he had spent with the wrong
But he knew, but he knew, he knew all along

So he stumbled on down the old dusting path
That felt of dead flowers, clay and ash
And stared through the windowing frilly sash
For a glimpse of his wife, his love, at last

But all that he saw was one plate and one knife
She’d set the table for the rest of her life
And some call it sugar and some call it spice
And nowhere and nothing, nothing is nice

And moonbeams went by in the sugargum wood
And everyone aged as everyone should
And everyone played as much as they could
All except Marney, Marney just stood