The loon, composed of light, in jest did mock
The sun, whose beams surpassed all but her own.
For sun is pow’r and radiance born of flame,
But in the light of Loon all goodness shone.
Her grace-form’d brightness cast aside the dark;
Her beauty, unmatch’d since, burst dams of tears.
Her realm was forest, lake and river stream,
And there no shadow came for countless years.
But counted countless is in time of grief,
And soon the end of endless days was brought
Upon a gale, a tempest forged of wrath;
A widowed youth, consumed by loss, distraught.
He cut a swathe through Loon’s fair wooded home,
Left quaking, crumbling timber in his wake,
And cast himself prostrate upon the shore;
His tears were tributaries to the lake.
Fair Loon shed mourning rain upon the boy,
Bereft of love and pining hopelessly.
With empathy and tenderness she came
To comfort him and ease his agony.
She wrapped her luminescent down in rags,
The trappings of humanity’s deceased,
And hid herself beneath a flawless mask
Of she whose soul the youth wish’d unreleased.
The lad believed his tear-soaked eyes to lie,
For here could not his soil-bound lover be.
And yet she stands more perfect than before,
As if, in dying, she had been made free.
At once, his wretchedness did turn to pride
To find his love returned, for his relief
Been resurrected hence by awesome pow’r:
His death-o’ercoming, omnipotent grief.
The youth, now full of hubris bade her come
And lie with him again as man and wife;
But she, being not woman but a bird,
Without a womb could bear no human life.
Yet still beseech’d the boy that she return,
Abide among the living by the sea,
And show the world the pow’r his pain possess’d,
That he unwidow’d widower should be.
But Loon, disguised as Wife, was bound to stay;
Her pow’r and light from wood and stream she drew,
So passing from that place her guise would fail
And seeing so would break his heart anew.
She bid him go, incarnate vanity,
And she would stay and mend what he had burned;
He must no longer grieve but prosper, thrive,
And he would find her there when he returned.
The boy returned a man, and brought his bride
A necklace made of pearls on silver chain
With which to demonstrate his doting love
And boast the wealth and influence he gain’d
Returning to the world a man of Pride.
For he mistook the mercy of the Loon,
Appearing to him resurrected love,
As proof that he was e’en to death immune.
Sweet Loon could not but laud the gen’rous gift,
For never had she want for gifts before.
In her was light and purity unmatched,
And grace and goodness are their own reward.
But placing now the strand about her neck,
She caught mankind’s disease; all-craving greed,
A stranger to her consciousness before,
Took root in her and blossomed like a weed.
Thereafter, ev’ry time the man returned
To forest glade and his rekindled fire,
He brought his wife with hidden feathers pearls,
And each new ornament fed her desire.
She set them in a lattice on her wings
And laid them out as stars across her back.
But as her wanting grew her light grew faint;
The down, that once unblemish’d was, ran black.
Her lust o’ercame her light, composed of good,
‘Til her charade she could maintain no more,
And thus as naught but Loon the young man found
A cursing, weeping wretch upon the shore.
About her lay the mask, the chain, the shroud,
The symbols of compassion, once, and love,
But now cast off as portents of her shame
That she no more outshone the sun above.
At once the boy saw her deception plain.
A whirling cataclysm took his place.
And to this day Loon’s pearls shine white on jet,
And still her haunting cries ring, “Loss of Grace.”
An Awfully Big Adventure 