Bittersweet Feet

Through the world of bric-a-brack, I roamed for half an hour,

Conducted by a man who was, at once, both stern and dour.

The heaps of ancient artifacts had yielded naught of note,

For certain nothing I could find about which, I could gloat.

Then, just as I despaired of finding anything unique,

A tiny foot engendered both charisma and mystique.

What seemed just brass or porcelain, was desiccated flesh!

Preserved with natron, bitumen, and myrrh to keep it fresh.

Five golden coins, I gave the man, and bore it home with glee,

For certain there was no one else as fortunate as me.

I tenderly emplaced it on my desk with honour. True.

Then retired to my bed. From consciousness withdrew.

‘Twas sometime later just as night had turned from grey to black,

Something hopped across my floor and snatched my curtains back.

A maiden waited there--her face of sad and solemn mien,

But still, she was more beautiful than any I had seen.

“You have my foot,” she said to me. And with her lady’s hand,

Pointed where my new prize did in lonely glory stand.

“Three thousand years I’ve been without. Please give it, I implore!”

I smiled and said, “Just take it. I don’t want it anymore!”

She took the foot, adjusted it, and finally stood there. Whole.

She smiled at me. “At last I will not limp whene’er I stroll!”

She took a locket from her neck and gently laid it down,

Exactly where my prize had rested, when I came from town.

She offered me her tiny hand and placed a kiss on mine,

“Whatever can I offer you, when you have been so kind?”

 “I’ll ask your father for assent. If you and I could wed.”

She nodded. “Come! I’ll take you where all others fear to tread.”

She led me down past moldering graves and interstices deep,

Through moribund and silent tombs, both she and I did creep.

And when, at last, we stood before her father on his throne,

With withered fingers grasped my arm. He chilled me to the bone!

“You’re far too young for her,” he said. “You’ve just begun to live.

Come back when you’ve three thousand years, and my consent, I’ll give.”

He gave my arm a mighty shake, I thought I’d met my end . . .

And sudden, I was in my bed and staring at my friend.

He had a grip upon my arm, had shaken me awake.

“You’ve slept in!” he hollered. “Our appointment we won’t make!”

I threw the covers back, began to dress in record time,

Trying not to think of my sweet princess so sublime.

Then, just as I’d achieved, at last, a state of modest dress,

I saw something on my desk that caused me great distress.

For there, in lonely glory, lay a locket. Yes. It’s fact.

That same laid there by gentle hand and in her final act.

And now I leave it all with you. Please give my tale some thought.

And then come back and tell me: If it happened. Or did not?

Mondays do get knocked a lot,

With poetry, we three besought,

To try to make the week begin,

With gentle thoughts--perhaps a grin?

So Jenny and Delores, we,

Now post our poems for you to see.

And when you’ve read what we have brought,

Did we help? Or did we not . . .

Next week because our snow has come,

We tackle 'cold'. And we'll be numb!