Cumberlan

CUMBERLAN

What manner of man, this Cumberlan?
who found a wife and took her hand;
and built a life upon the sand,
of dreams, and dotes, and distant lands.

Who thereupon found much to grieve,
and left his cards within his sleeve,
and said and did – while much relieved,
beset by prudent lethargy.

Was fifty years, and thirty more,
and still there wandered by the shore,
without account for stock or store,
but ever claimed by repertoire.

Said he to she, “Won't you alight
the ream's lamenting false insight?”
But she to he “No, not tonight.”
for fear his ghost would there take flight.

Still fly it did, and ever hid
away from eyes beneath their lid;
and hope to ground without a skid,
would burn what woman never did.

What manner of man, this Cumberlan?
who found a wife and took her hand;
who's sundered heartbeat trails the sand,
for those who heedless walk this land.