With The Shadows, Mary Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What has the evil troubadour done to Mary?
I have checked the hay-loft, I have checked the dairy;
But she has gone like the summer’s river, like
The Spring-time’s cherry;

Now the snows crowd her new job, and there
Are Mary’s footprints in the snow’s jaw: She is working,
But I cannot find her. Taken new routs, so I cannot
Find her, but I can smell the kiss upon her flesh,
Of a fine John,

It makes me so hungry and so feverish,
That I begin my drooling stutter; I would like some
Bones with pie and butter;
And as I leap from crook to shutter, I moan
And this I mutter:

“Mary, Mary, our children are hungry without
Your breasts to suckle, and Mary, Mary,
I am hungry without your flesh to mould and knuckle,
But your kiss has gone away, Mary,
Mary, gone away, but I will follow the steps it took,
Mary, Mary,
Because there are all sorts of trails in these woods,
And the new weddings and hair cuts shall do no good,
For I am coming with the shadows, Mary,
Mary, with the shadows to do no good.”