Fair Maiden

There were no more tender hands than thine,
That worked each day with loving heart.
That cared and loved the many swine
Which life so daily did impart.

The maid with fairest milk white skin
And hair like golden rays of sun,
Her smile and friendly eyes of blue,
With chatterings, soon all hearts were won.

Poor maid was never meant to be
Showered with love and tender warmth,
Working drearily each day to see,
No end in sight, a life forlorn.

She sang and danced in innocence,
Flowers gathered at each weary break.
Not knowing of the way ahead,
Her birth had been a sad mistake.

Sweet child of Eve, can you perceive
Another life apart from thine?
Where sunny days of violet rays
Around your lonely soul entwine.

Brenda S. Warhurst

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