When I first met your mother (3)

Mohsen H. Darabi

Dear darling,
When I first met your mother on her land
she held colorful flowers in her hand.
Her land bred turquoise blue forget-me-nots.
I started feeling fairly she is grand.
When I first met your mother on that day
doves cooed the coming of the month of May.
Your mother made a fortune from her flowers.
She worked hard on her land for many hours.
When I first met your mother, she was dear.
She milked big bison bravely, without fear.
Her wet land, greenish blue it was with flowers.
Big bison were her pets with mighty powers.
When I first met your mother, she was proud.
Her pets, her bison, clashed horns fighting loud.
That day, excited I felt, young and light.
I seized the bison, wished a friendly fight.
That day, excited I felt warm and bright.
I chased the bison, wanting them a fight.
One bison saw me running down the hill.
Your mother cried to me: “Hey, stop! Stand still.”
But too excited I was, I kept running.
I chased the bison. This game was my loving.
Then, bison stopped escaping me the battle.
The chase was done with bison in fine fettle.
Bison now tired of running away from me.
They stopped in anger. Their horns I could see.
One bison rushed to me to start the fight.
I rushed to it and grabbed its big horns tight.
My hands in struggle held its horns, too strong.
The bison pushed and pulled to prove me wrong.
Meanwhile, your mother stood feeling distressed.
The bison horns were deadly as they pressed.
Your mother was too worried I’d be hurt.
I wrestled the bison, splashing soil and dirt.

When I first met your mum, she wore a shirt.
And deep down, she hid swords under her skirt.
Her sword shone brightly, now as do my teeth.
But back then I was fighting on the heath.
She threw her sword at me to make things fair.
Her sword flew fast. I snatched it in the air.
She cried loud: “Kill this bison with my sword!
Kill this beast, in good name of Holy Lord.”
She cried: “We’ll feast on this... Now take my sword!
This bison will be honored by our Lord.”
I must have killed it. I had no more choice.
I cried Lord’s name deeply within my voice.
When bison heard the name, it changed its stance.
It took the chance to back away and dance.
God’s name made bison break free at a glance.


The bison and my strength felt no more pain.
We stopped fighting each other by God’s name.
Your mum asked me her sword be given back.
Relaxing on the marsh, we ate our snack.


When I first met your mum, we had a feast.
We welcomed to her land an honest priest.
Sermons on marriage we read by the flowers.
Turquoise forget-me-nots – big hopes were ours.


April 22, 2016


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