Untitled Poem by Lone Dog

(Written by my mother and discovered after her death)


My sons, it will not ever be that Love
Will shower thee with kisses,
And smile upon thy form, nor bless each move
Thou deignedst, then to make. Love's tresses
Are full long, and golden as the honey.
Her form is lythe and lovely.
Shell-pink complexioned she. Her smiles are sunny.
Her touch, sublimely comforting.

My sons, there comes a time in life when Evil
Rears its ugly dragon head,
And, like the serpent that he is beguiles
His prey, and with the spiderous webs
Of life we pattern, seeks to bind us firm,
To drag us into yawning caverns,
Deep in Hell's torment, where the worm
Dieth not, - in Satan's taverns.

Watch then, my sons, and be alert that thou
Lose not thy grip, nor sight of Love,
Nor let her golden song, her beauteous brow,
Slip unatuned thine ears; nor thrust
The vision from thy mind, but hold it fast,
That she might seek thee out, and bear
Thee up, out of the depths of sin to grasp
Thy hand. Behold! Thy love is fair.


(*written by Mother of Lone Dog)