Ladies of the Lorn

In the Land of the Lorn there is many a tale.
The first we shall meet is a tiny brown quail
Who'd lived as content as a quail might deserve,
Till losing her mate made her lose all her nerve.
She shuddered and shrank from the birds who came near,
And looked for the lowliest branch that was clear
And there she would perch, nearsighted and dim,
Her head in a corner, all lost without him.

The next we shall see is a plump speckled hen
Who'd lived in the North and was happier then.
She'd laid all her eggs and had raised many chicks
Till her rooster flew off, leaving her in a fix.
She looked for a cool and acceptable place,
But settled for less in embarrassed disgrace,
And there she sojourned, all cackle and cluck.
She would have gone home but she got herself stuck.

And now comes a lady duck, grizzled and gray,
Who, it seemed, had been widowed for many a day.
While building her household of feathers and pride,
Ignoring her drake till he suddenly died,
She begrudged other feminine fowl and was bitter,
And sat in a small muddy hole like a quitter,
And there she would flutter, all waddle and quack.
She couldn't fly out for the load on her back.

Then came the lady who had a screw loose,
Who fancied herself an absurd Mother Goose.
All white and delightfully clever when young,
She'd grown weird and eccentric and fragiley strung.
She'd no use for ganders and small memory,
And traded her hopes for the weeds she could see.
She'd light on a post, all chatter and scold,
And would have flown off but her wings were too old.

And last stood the turkey, all regal and bronze,
Who directed her life with conductor's batons.
Her Tom was a mean one, who'd exercised clout,
And she had responded by throwing him out.
She went seeking her fortune, but laziness came,
So she found an old barn and pronounced herself lame,
And there she resettled, all gobble and grump.
She couldn't get far with her head on a stump.

Now all of these ladies had wisdom and wits
They kept hidden in favor of regular fits.
They met in the barn, where they grumbled and sat,
Where they caught the attention of Grandmother Cat,
Who said, I've been starved and deserted and kicked,
My feelings are battered, my wounds have been licked,
And I could be crouching, all snarl and hiss
And groaning like you do for better than this.

Here I have lived in the Land of the Lorn,
A hardworking barn cat from when I was born,
But I'm too busy planning to sit and complain -
Why aren't you working and storing up grain?
Why aren't you looking for suitable nests
In some other climate, if this fails your tests?
I've heard your excuses - they're not up to snuff.
You poultry have all vegetated enough.

I don't see a rooster, a drake or a gander,
A tom or a bob-white, and, speaking with candor,
I happen to know, as a widow myself,
How ladies alone tend to sit on a shelf.
Don't set and do nothing, get out of the hay.
Your hopes were not high if you can't fly away
And do what you must to be free as you can.
Tomorrow's too late, if you don't have a plan.

The ladies of feather, from large down to small,
Who would have gone on and done nothing at all,
Now looked at each other, all twitter and cheep.
The old cat had finished.... and fallen asleep.

Well, shortly thereafter, the branch having freed her,
The quail found a covy and married the leader.
The hen tried her wings, with her beak pointing North
And high expectations for coolness, went forth.
The duck cast her clutter and guilt in the sea
And soared to the heavens, relieved to be free.
The goose understood, for the first time in years,
She'd just acted eccentric to cover her fears.
She moved to a cabin, effected a switch,
And published her memoirs and got very rich.
They never returned to all beat and bereft.
But, back to our story, there's one lady left.

The stately old turkey sat pondering while
The cat finished napping. She started to smile,
And then, in a voice reminiscent of Maude,
Said, Wake up and face me, you lazy old fraud.
That's quite a dramatic, original yarn.
How long has your eye been affixed to my barn?
What purpose your lecture, all pomp and sobriety,
Reducing in number the widows' society?
You don't look mistreated, nor much underfed,
But as useless and soft as... er, ...I am, she said.
I haven't a Tom, nor, I daresay, have you,
And I guess the old barn will accommodate two.

Why, precisely my point, said the cat, for you see,
Two middleaged females are good company.
And there they are dwelling, all swagger and scorn
For all but each other, in the Land of the Lorn.