she not yet ripe for the picking
he found his tongue would not work
in her presence and thought this
basis enough for his proposal
his father warned against betrothal
the thought of it sticking
in his old heart like a dagger
planted there by all women
though only one of their kind
had long ago done the stabbing
but love being blind they married
without his fathers approval
and were happy for a time
working the fields together by day
lying side by side at night
until the season of planting came
and he saw the light in her eyes
begin to dim noticeably
at least it was noticeable to him
he put it down to mood or whim
busy as he was getting seeds
into the ground before the rains
so days ran into weeks
she complained of exhaustion
began to move more slowly
as if in walking she were forcing
one foot in front of the other
though the doctor could find
nothing physically wrong with her
in the wet season she took to bed
for days on end without speech or
movement of any kind except for
the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest
now and then she would moan
or her eyes would roll back in her head
the doctor took her temperature and
prescribed tinctures of roots and herbs
but the medicines only made her worse
in desperation he turned to the town midwife
who some thought a witch but never refused
her services or advice in return for food
the old woman took one look at the girl
she has a gypsy soul she said and frowned
you have taken that which should be free
and rooted it to the ground
in the season of growth one morning
he found her out in the field lying
arms outstretched silent as a fallen tree
her chest did not move no breath
passed her lips her skin cold to the touch
he wept in hope his tears might seep
into the good earth bringing her back to life
but in his heart he knew he asked too much
he had sought to tame a thing born wild
nature cared not that he didn't know
it seemed to him the cruelest of truths
that indeed we reap what we sow
© shaun patrick green 2011
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