Oliver and Family

When I was young and fate was kind To every wish, I had in mind No appetite for greater gloom Betrayed the joy that lit my room Where nothing but the night is black And black is never dark for lack Of something bright or greater light But merely brings a lesser sight And should a sullen something scratch Or enter unbeknownst to hatch A nightmare by my crib or bed No lack of love appeared instead But still there grew impending fear That drew from shadows newly near To tempt the tender tears of youth And soon betray a child's truth... In days of yore, the greedy game Betrayed the poor, the needy same Who lost the score, but won the shame Of those who bore the pauper name Though many more who lost the fight Were hungry for the smallest bite The ones who wore the rags at night Were gone before the morning light A mother weeps for one so dear Her flesh and blood are buried here Alone and lost, she's not the first To bear the cost of what she nursed A baby sleeps, she could not save Or rescue from a silent grave A sad goodbye to someone small Who learned to cry but not to crawl In London Town the work is spare No space around is not a fair For those who sell or seek to buy A softer smell before they die The stranger face you meet today May catch your bread and run away The cautious kind, who never show Some gratitude before they go The children cry for lack of food Before the ones who treat them rude Who proudly pass them on the street For how they smell in their defeat And so it was in lesser times When sadder lives were not the crimes That many make them out to be The sorrow of my family... My mother's name was Seraphine A servant sane but still serene Who kept a cherished memory Of someone dear who used to be The lady known as Mary Grace Befit the joy that lit her face And found the strength of will to fight The desperate souls who came at night When she was young and indiscreet She met a boy who made her greet The rising sun with such delight That heaven seemed to be her right His eyes were brown and furrowed deep To fix your gaze and make you weep Or hope to keep you in his sight To love you more with pure delight The hair that swished from side to side Was curled more than he could hide The image of a kindly soul Who wrought the joy that made you whole He never was the kind of lad To make you think of him as bad His earnest ways and silly jokes Were popular with many folks No kinder lad was more sincere To pledge his heart and make it clear That this the love they shared was sure And Mary called him Oliver . . .