A Twice Told Tale

A Twice Told Tale

Cross my palm with silver, lad

And lean into my story

Of the hummingbird’s quick flight

And the blooming morning glory.

A golden tale to anchor thought

And twist our minds yet once again 

While gasping loudly all the while

Of my blemished tale of sin.

A tale well told, should be told twice

The polished dirt at near midnight

The thrusting bosom ever so

The careful blend of lust and fright.

For what is fright but tarnished lust

And naked secrets in the gloom

With nights’ soft covering of the act

That led sweet damsel to her doom.

He never thought with kisses sweet

Amid the blooming rows of flowers

As they kissed into the night

Careless of the passing hours.

He’d wooed her sister, don’t you see

Left her struggling for her breath

Slashed her cleanly with his knife

Gasping on her date with death.

But, now a smile escaped his lips

And suddenly he saw the light

And felt the entry of the blade

In his chest, so deep, so tight.

Why? Is all he dared to gasp

As he sank upon his knees

And sought forgiveness for his sins

The lone reply, the rustling leaves.

She let him stay just where he fell

And pressed the knife butt in his palm

Then smiled the smile of sweet revenge

And called out loudly the alarm.

The jury listened in the dock

The story of the man and knife

Her voice so sweetly told again

The darkest night, the loss of life.

The story told did touch my heart

Said the judge from where he sat

But, it’s a tale I’ve heard before

And now retelling leaves me flat.

I do believe you’ve told before

Of the sister killed by blade

And the man who killed her thus

Whose life you took, the debt repaid.

But, fair lady, what is more,

He held his hand up, fingers splayed.

A twice told tale can hit the mark

And glowered downward at the maid.

But a tale too often told

Flakes away the keenness bright

And so it dulls the sharpened edge.

You’ve told it five times, if I’m right.

Take her, bailiff, to her fate

Let her face the hangman’s noose

We’ll hear no more of sweet revenge

Hear no more of death’s excuse.

She lies there now, where flowers grow

Beneath the shadow of her sin

Hummingbirds now take to wing

Morning glories bloom again.