The Tale of the Widow

The Tale of the Widow

Then said Jesus unto him,
Put up again thy sword into his place:
for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.
Matthew 26:52


Many a year ago in a castle,
Far from land, there within lived a pruned widow-
Laiden with years of sorrow.
Her face, not much larger than mine-
But who may see my face? Not I-
Hers was of modest proportion,
And, if one looks hard enough,
He shall see,
That once, there was laughing wrinkles-
But now it only voices “mortality”.
Her lips quite slender,
And usually sloped they are
For once they bore laughs and truth
But now- nothing at all.
They all had deserted her-
She had no reason to open, and stroke chords.
There were of the slightest pink-
Which once kissed babes,
And bruised toes and feet.
And, above all else,
Spoke truth, and guided her daughters
To be the wives that they ought.
To her husband (late he now is, alas!)
She was the perfect church.
I say was, merely, because all of her family
Is now dead and gone.
Her eyes were of the softest brown,
Usually glistening, by the swelling of her tears.
And though she may frown,
She would never weep; never break down.
“Throughout all of my years
The Lord Jesus has now bestowed upon me this,
And I must bear, in readiness.”
Her body seemed fragile to the naked eye
But was so enduringly strong
That one would think eyes lied.
Overall she was stern,
Raised with a Christian background,
Jesus Christ being her One and only God.
She prayed, kneeling, for the Father
To forgive the world.
That all would be right, but, alas, the world is the world.
Now that I have given you somewhat a ‘vast’ description,
Of this lonely widow,
I will now tell of how she came to be like this;
A tale from the past;
How she came to live in the castle, alone, Alas!
This tale, within itself, at first is like Xerxes and Mordecai,
In my opinion, but to each his own, judge as you like.
I shall tell the tale,
And I most certainly hope
I live up to standards, and do not fail.
There once was a king,
That ruled a distant land
Whom everyone adored;
And reached for his hand.
He ruled well;
Justice being his only goal.
But, alas, when there is righteous in this world there is also evil
(and vice-versa);
And in the land was plotting (only by few)
Of murdering the King, and bidding him adieu.
(I do not know whether he was French, but, ah!
I believe the word fits. Do not you, too?)
The plot formed, each member assigned to his evil position.
Now there was a loyal officer of the King,
Named Arden, who was in the King’s
Palace at the supposed time of the murder.
He was roaming the halls,
When, ah! He heard an alerted hush
Of whispers by three; or four!
He stood still, around the corner,
Eavesdropping- to know the core.
The whispers implied; and Arden
Assumed- he had no time to waste!
He was certain,
And rushed to the throne room;
His legs swiftly carrying him.
Soon after Arden had left,
Pleshius, Abidés, Laiseoph and Braphies
Took their positions in the throne room,
Quite inconspicuous and fast!
They were in the room faster
Than a rock can chip glass.
Arden then entered, through
The main entrance.
His eyes flashed across the room,
In distress.
There was a wave of a curtain,
And immediately he knew.
The King was on his throne,
Discussing issues with one
Of his advisors, more than fifty yards away.
Twice Arden breathed shallow breaths
When, alas! The advisor descended,
And- the curtain waved once again!
Arden’s heart beat was erratic
As he began to run.
Twenty feet away, the curtain was drawn,
And there immerged Pleshius
With a dagger in his accurséd hand!
“Your Majesty!” Arden called,
In full sprint,
The King raised his head in utter shock.
Pleshius, not minding the consequences,
Decided to carry out with the plan.
He ran- and,
Shoving his arm out into the air,
With dagger in hand
Stretched to sever the King’s throat.
When, at last! Arden strikes Pleshius’ arm
With his silver sword-
The arm falling to the floor.
(This happened within a few seconds;
Not four)
Pleshius fell to his knees,
Blood spurting fiercely and freely.
His eyes were wide, and, yet,
Began to slowly die.
He gasped, and clutched the air;
Falling face forward, his head crushed,
By force on the tile stair.
“My dearest King, are you hurt?”
Arden rushed to his side.
“No, not in the least. I am in shock, I believe.”
Others rushed into the great throne room,
For they had heard Arden’s loud cry.
Gasps were heard among them
As they beheld Pleshius, face down
Covered in crimson blood.
They soon recovered,
And turned to the King’s side;
Inquiring what had happened,
Exactly when, and why.
The King, recovering from utmost shock,
Said, “This man, to put it quite simply,
Has saved my head.
My murderer’s arm was severed
Completely, and there he
Lays, dead, for he had fallen like lead.”
He spoke with his small audience
And, facing Arden, the King asked,
“My good man, whatever you ask it shall
Be granted. Whether the highest position,
Unlimited provision, and plots of many lands.
I am forever indebted to you and your family,
For you have saved my very life
From death’s hands.”
“Great King,” Arden began,
“I did not execute such a thing
(call it what you will, but certainly not a deed
In God’s own eyes!)
For riches; as if I took action for pay!
Quite the contrary; I love my King,
And am proud to say
So, that I will merrily give my life
To spare his.”
The King, after hearing this,
Was somewhat blown away.
“I did not mean to grade you to a lower level,
Most certainly not! I apologize;
I shall see what gifts are fit for you.”
“Your majesty, do what seems to you best.
My hands are clean, and all that
I wanted was justice.
May the Lord have mercy on Pleshius’ soul!”
Arden looked down at the corpse,
Still lying, on the floor.
“I shall send a messenger to you this day,
Once I have made my choices.
I may, if you wish, give you a castle,
Down in Caverdish.
But, ah, that it only the beginning!”
The King voiced, merrily.
“Whatever the King’s wishes are;
Thank you, your majesty.”
Arden spoke humbly.
“Yes, my messenger should come soon,
And from here, he shall arrive just after noon.”
Why, in this text, you might ask
Is the King’s name not mentioned?
Truth be told, I forgot;
For I am getting quite old- so please
Excuse this particular lot.
If I have not yet mentioned this,
Arden rode his gallant horse, Phabes,
To his house that very day,
Estimating I would say, two miles away.
He walked inside as usual,
Embracing his wife and children-
For he loved them dearly-
What married man wouldn’t?
When the excitement had subsided,
He gathered his wife into his arms
Hoping that she- will never fear the world’s earthly harms.
“I have missed you, dearly,
And prayed to you specifically for you, lord,
This morning, on our bedroom floor.
I cannot describe it;
There was a feeling of defeat.”
Arden frowned, and,
knowing that it was a sign from God,
took a seat- and contemplated what and how
he should say.
“Loving wife… I have killed a man today.”
His wife looked at him steadily.
“How could you?! In letting God
The Almighty on your heart have dismay?”
The wife burst, not containing this sudden,
Abrupt sort of turn.
She fell into a nearby chair;
For she had been standing,
With all wear.
Her eyes were of endless depth;
Seeing that her husband had broken
The Lord’s sacred commands.
“Dear, it was a matter of life or death,
For the King.”
And, this said, there was a resounding
Knocking, at the door.
The sorrowful wife rose, her body
Feeling weighty.
Within a few moments,
She walked back into the room,
And spoke quite meekly,
“There is a messenger of the King,
Who wishes to speak with thee,
Assumingly alone.”
“Dear wife! No! He intends to discuss
certain things involving our family.
There, now, while life is in me,
I shall never touch a sword again,
I swear!” Arden promised a bit loudly,
But solemnly. And later you shall see,
He never broke his vow, for he is now-
Facing eternity.
He and his wife both met the sent messenger
And, so grave was the wife
That she nearly frightened him out of his wits;
His life.
“Dearest Arden, and wife, and family,
And to all that live under this roof
I have come with a message from the King,
One that must not be further
Delayed, or possibly said,
“It should have been,”
I have proof, that this must be delivered truly,
No misconceptions of any-“
“There, dear sir, assert yourself to your meaning.”
Arden interrupted, and, gladly by me!
(also for you?) For I was beginning to highly dislike
This sort of fellow, whom
Is a messenger, and, I daresay
He plays a horrid cello.
Of course not dewey or mellow!
Ah, I am highly off course.
The messenger then spoke:
“If it is your wish, the King,
Upon saving our majesty’s life,
Honors you, your family, your wife,
By giving you the Demry castle.
Yes, close to Cavendish.
He also offers a position, the highest
Of his advisors!
And of course all provisions are paid for,
To ponder that!”
The messenger inhaled quite a sum,
And awaited a reply,
Which was quite some time.
“Dearest, it is my interest
To accept this proposal. I believe God
Has graciously bestowed blessings upon
Us and our family.”
Arden spoke, with words that were not
Voiced at all strongly.
“Accept, lord, I love you, and whatever is your will
It is mine also.”
So, as it is implied, the family assented,
But, alas! How it has gone awry!
They packed all of their belongings
And with the King’s men
They moved comfortably in
To the Demry castle.
(I would like to tell you of its name, its origin,
And the family, but, alas!
I have not room for that monstrous tale
So please remind me quite later,
To explain in much detail.)
The family had many joyful moments;
But only spent two years
‘Till the great tragedy happened-
And to the wife came all fears.
It was a much of a sunny day
And, the wife alone walked down
To the water to bathe
Quite a distance away.
(This was her weekly revelry)
While the dear woman was gone,
A ship made port,
And from it emerged: Braphies, Laiseoph, and Abídés!
With other hired sailors,
The children first did they slain
Not one having the chance to cry out
In indescribable pain.
The innocents’ limbs
Lay on the floor, their bodies, their blood
Reminding Arden of Pleshius-
Whom he had killed two years before.
His children! Why not only him?
Why must pain come upon the whole
When only a part committed the evil deed?
But, this is God’s way,
And realizing so, Arden greeted Death,
And his steed,
He was unarmed, due to his vow,
Now he shall die.
“God forgive me! Oh, my dear wife!”
Were the last words of his earthly life
As Death swept him up onto the saddle.
“The scoundrel that he is.”
Abídés spat upon his pale dead face.
Is there not mercy, or grace?
The trio and sailors wiped their swords clean;
Deserted the corpses and set sail
Leaving them to be seen.
Alas, the wife viewed
Her family- now cut in twos.
What grief was laid upon her!
May God be with her.
The tear steadily flowed from her glassy eyes
The brown eyes that never, in all their life
Told any lies.
This is the tale of the widow, my dear friend,
A sad, melancholy tale,
One that should not be told again-
And I hope I did not fail.