The Last One Standing Poem by cheryl davis miller

The Last One Standing

Rating: 5.0


I happened once upon a sight
and found it odd at best;
to find just one stone standing still
amidst the fallen rest.

Strange how time and nature
can disrupt the best laid plans;
and have the last words spoken in
the lives of mortal man.

The silent stone spoke openly
the words of those long gone.
It shared the secrets of the past
the saga still go’s on.

The tale of sweet Rebecca
born upon a river boat.
A humbler vessels not been seen
it barely stayed afloat.

Her Papa was the Captain
a kindly white skinned man.
Her Mama was his servant girl
bought down in Louisiann.

Mama had no choice tho
the captain was quite fair.
At every port they greeted her
with whispers and cold glares.

So when Rebecca came along
with almond eyes of blue,
Mama said, 'Rebecca girl
this life is not for you,

Mam’s gona find a better way
for you to live your life;
I’ll send you off for schoolin'
you can be some fine man’s wife.'

The plan was set in motion
carried out as time passed by.
Mama sweet talked the Captain
until he finally complied.

They sent their child to Cincinnati
to a private school for girls.
Hopin' she would find a husband
and have it better in this world.

Wasn’t long til Becca met
a man called Gabriel.
He too was there for schoolin'
he was called a ‘near-do-well’.

He came from up near Lancaster
master of his family farm.
Rebecca overwhelmed him
with her kindness and her charm.

They planned an April wedding
they were counting off the days.
Then some one told his family
Rebecca came from slaves.

They threatened Gabe and told him,
'we will have no part of this;
get rid of her or loose it all, '
and thus began the tryst.

So instead of Mrs. Greyhull
she was a consort all her days.
Broke her Mama’s heart to know
she’d followed in her ways.

She and Gabriel shared their lives
tho they were frowned upon.
This stone is still a testament
that their love carries on.

So you see I find it funny
her stones the last one left upright.
Now the ‘Consort’ has the final word;
I think it’s only right.

c.d.m.4/13/09

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
The works of my imagination, while viewing a headstone from the early 1800's.She actually was called a consort.
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