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J Jay Samuel Davis MYSTIC POET

A TRUE STORY. LITTLE ANN and her mother were walking one day, Through London’s wide city so fair;

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A TRUE STORY.
LITTLE ANN and her mother were walking one day,
Through London’s wide city so fair;
And business obliged them to go by the way
That led them through Cavendish Square.
And as theypass’d by the great house of a lord,
A beautiful chariot there came,
To take some most elegant ladies abroad,
Who straitway got into the same.
The ladies in feathers and jewels were seen,
The chariot was painted all o’er,
The footmen behind were in silver and green,
And four horses gallop’d before.
Little Ann, by her mother, walk’d silent and sad,
A tear trickled down from her eye ;
‘Till her mother said, ” Ann, I should be very glad
” To know what it is makes thee cry.”
Ah look ! said the child, at that carriage, mamma
All cover’d with varnish and gold,
Those ladies are riding so charmingly there,
While we have to walk in the cold.
Thou say’st God is kind to the folks that are good,
But surely it cannot so be ;
Or else I am certain, almost, that he would
Give such a fine carriage to thee.

Look there, little girl, said her mother, and see
What stands at that very coach door,
A poor ragged beggar, and listen how she
A halfpenny stands to implore.
All pale is her face, and deep sunk is her eye,
Her hands look like skeleton’s bones ;
She has got a few rags just about her to tie,
And her naked feet bleed on the stones.
Dear ladies, she cries, and the tears trickle down,
Relieve a poor beggar, I pray ;
I’ve wandered all hungry about this wide town,
And not eat a morsel to-day.
My father and mother are long ago dead,
My brother sails over the sea ;
And I’ve not a rag or a morsel of bread,
As plainly I’m sure you may see.
A fever I caught which was terribly bad
But no nurse or physic had I ;
An old dirty shed was the house that I had,
And only on straw could I lie.
And now that I’m better, yet feeble and faint,
And famish’d, and naked, and cold,
I wander about with my grievous complaint,
And seldom get aught but a scold.
Some will not attend to my pitiful call,
Some think me a vagabond cheat,
And scarcely a creature relieves me of all
The thousands that traverse the street.
Then ladies, dear ladies, your pity bestow ;
Just then a tall footman came round,
And asking the ladies which way they would go,
The chariot turn’d off with a bound.
Ah ! see little girl, then her mother replied,
How foolish it was to complain ;
If thou wouldst but have look’d at the contrary side,
Thy tears would have dried up again.
Thy house, and thy friends, and thy victuals and bed,
‘Tvvas God in his mercy that gave ;
Thou didst not deserve to be cover’d and fed,
And yet all these blessings we have.
This poor little beggar is hungry and cold,
No father nor mother has she ;
And while thou canst daily such objects behold,
Thou ought quite contented to be.
A coach and a footman, and gaudy attire,
Can’t give true delight to the breast ;
To be good is the thing thou shouldst chiefly desire,
And then leave to God all the rest. A. T.

“GOOD IN THE MOMENT!” a poem, written May 20, 2019, Monday!

I could not log in, but I did have a-comment;
Or, actually, A-POEM – It’s-called: “GOOD IN THE MOMENT!”

“A little from YOU – is, to me, quite a lot!”
Said the poor, little beggar! “You’re SURELY a sot!”
Said the mean, feathered ladies! and, with THAT, mama’s tot,
Let go of mom’s hand! (pause) Emancipation she sought!

For to HER, li’l Ann Taylor – “GOOD” meant SOME AC-TION! (pause)
She raced to the coach – and delivered impact-ion:
She secured many pistols! and gunned them all down!
Then, the beggar girl and she – dis-appeared into town!

They carried the spoils they had skillfully retrieved,
From the purses and bodies – of the corpses! and-it’s-believed:
That the two became lovers, and-it-was-dear-mommy’s-girl,
Who-had a sex change operation! Then, they gave crime a whirl!

A boy! and his girl – are two girls in love,
Seeking their OWN GOOD! Perhaps, Heaven above,
Has blessed their strong efforts, for-our Bonny and Clyde,
Kidnap and pillage and go for a ride,
In any chariot they choose, and they give to the poor!
They love to distribute! Strong love is their lore!
Like Robin and Marian! Pocahontas and John!
The passion-filled legends of lovers goes on!

And The Mother? Her-idea-of-“goodness?” was-just-a-sad, early-end,
Although not too rich, she was seldom a friend,
To her daughter, now-a-boy, who-did-also-leak-Intel,
To-uncover corrupt-governments! AND – The-“Beggar-Girl”-is-well,
For-her-brash, “significant-other” HAS-“relieved” her a-lot;
Both-now-live in-Colorado, smoking legalized pot!
And live in-a fine mansion, eating the very best food!
Moral: ONE-LADY’S-EVIL – CAN-BE-HER-ALTAR[ED]-BOY’S-G-OO-D! (pronounced: Gude!)

fin

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