Old Sammy Brown
A few of us recall the day
When down the dusty gravel way
That leads into our simple town
A’hopping came old Sammy Brown.
Upon a crutch he held his own,
His right leg pushing on alone,
And on his left arm hanging dead,
Was bound a kerchief stained with red.
His right eye shone out bright and brown,
The other eyelid drooping down.
We might have asked him how or why
These crippling curses came he by,
Or given some relief to ease
The strain of insufficient knees,
If only once he’d cared to ask;
Instead he grinned and bore his task.
He showed no pain for all the while
Beneath his beard there lived a smile.
For us to tend him ‘twas no call,
We’re simple people after all.
Old Sammy loved a hearty yarn
Which drew some dozens to the barn
(For there we made his humble bed,
He asked no comfort for his head).
As we sat ‘round with mugs of ale
He restlessly unwound his tale,
And when our work called us away,
Amused the children through the day.
The young ones most did think it grand
To learn of a fictitious land
Where women sinned and armies vied
O’er silly laws and petty pride:
A city full of hungry folk,
A group of slaves bound to a yoke,
A wound received while being brave,
A dying boy he’d claimed to save.
Now simple townsfolk know of life
Enough to know there’s no such strife,
Still so in earnest were his lies
He earned applause and scraps as prize.
We laughed and clapped as every night
He told us of a different blight,
And when the time grew very late
We’d leave him in his lowly state.
But winter came and we did tire
Of sitting ‘round his story fire.
Nor did the children stories seek,
And he unseen was for a week.
I happened in the barn one night
To tend a cow who’d had a fright.
Before me sat old Sammy Brown,
His glimmer gone and eye cast down.
It seemed he had forgot to light
The dung fire that had warmed his night.
A’shivering he raised his eye;
I almost thought I heard him sigh.
But ere I asked what could be wrong
He breathed his last and fell headlong
Into the soil and frosty hay.
I shrugged and took old Sam away.
We did not mourn old Sammy Brown,
A stranger from a different town,
But only wondered how he came
Among us though he was so lame,
And why he never told us aught
Or some improved conditions sought.
At last we judged it not unkind
To hold old Sam had lost his mind.
Quite soon the children too forgot
The crazy tales his brain begot.
We buried him behind the church –
Or was it by the ancient birch?
For years since when I pass the barns
Recall I still his famous yarns
And wonder why it was he sighed
That frosty night when Sammy died.
It makes no sense that he should be
Unthankful for our charity.
It’s best we question not his yoke;
We are, thank God, a simple folk.