Welcome To The Bullpen
The Blessing
By Delia J. Fry
Looking through the wagon's dust
I can see a lone rider approaching
A silhouette in the midst of sundown
A single blur, shimmering in the heat
My eyes strain against the tears
Could it be? God please let it be him
In desperation I waves both arms
Oh please see me and ride quickly
I'm tempted to jump from the wagon
But it is going dangerously fast
My father looks back at me angrily
As he whips the horses and yells
How many miles have they traveled
On and on listening to her father's rage
Berating her for loving the Indian boy
Shouting, threatening, cursing at her
She cries, but not from fear, anger or shame
Her love is strong, she will not be denied
How can it be wrong to love him
Follow your heart, her mother's words
Love him as I have never been loved
Completely and faithfully my girl
The boy has a gentle and loving soul
Sent away with only a quick whispered blessing
The rider has disappeared into the night
Tired and weary, her hope dissolves
"Whoa," and the wagon suddenly stops
The Indian boy stands in front of the wagon
The father and the young Indian stare at each other
Words are not needed, only actions
The father stands and raises his whip
It is too late he realizes, and sits down
Head down, he wipes away the tears
Forgive me girl, your mother is right
Get away, be with him. I am done
Go. Love is your blessing not mine
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