1819... UNAFRAID, WILLOUGHBY GOES OUT TO DIE AN HONORABLE DEATH...
Today I got out of bed with a poem in my head,
Wondering what did I do
to deserve You.
My soul has been searched and found again,
My
Angel... I became my friend.
Please, do let me express gratefulness,
For
You were always near and with me everywhere.
You see, my Darling again I’m me!
And… I … Love YOU to Idiocy!
Now you know! Don’t say I didn’t tell you so!
Grateful for what given and life as it should be,
A bit older and wiser maybe... anew
Willoughby!
Oh, yesss! Better than new; I can really see!
No longer asking: “Why?” I was again ready to die,
Seeing a horde of fierce warriors full of hatred clad,
Tomahawks and arrows... they were really mad!
My Sweet Angel so you know... four days ago,
Armed with a percussion pistol… and one shot,
Much support,
Rob McGregor and I had not.
Rifles really none… ammunition all gone,
Certain we had finished with slaughter and war,
And all the horrors we had seen and done before,
But clearly no, it seemed not to be so.
Oh yes, a Royal Cavalier "takes care" of many,
or more... But now what for?
Always able to understand,
We are guests or intruders on their land,
A few words were enough to say farewell:
“Brother, I’ll find you in Hell!
Always the very best of men,
I thank you for being a damn good friend!”
Again ready for the one
never a friend,
We just stared death in the face again.
Meaningless things... riches or poverty,
Unwilling to
end more lives an idea came to me.
It was leaving this world as the day I came in,
Just a sad soul carrying nothing is not sin,
Convinced the Love in my Heart will always stay,
My Sweet Rosie… just a man, what more can I say?
Outside I went and stood without fear,
With nothing to say or to show, but a bear claw.
Then suddenly YOU, my Sweet
Angel were there!
Holding my hands and brave as could be,
A breathtaking vision in gold, rosy pink and ivory!
Ohhh...! What a magnificent
sight to see,
My life almost history...
A last gift of Love from
You to me!
I Know now You were always forgiving somehow...
And I sang from my soul; “You were always with me,
My Sweet Darling Angel, I Love You to idiocy!”
Seeing incredible beauty shining right from your soul,
Never forgetting me, I became your hero and all!
You said:”… for YOU are my Knight in Golden Armor,
My
Celestial Prince from the skies,
And I … see paradise in your eyes!”
Life might be full of tests and tricks,
But ever since a small boy at six,
Sweet Angel my heart so true, again I knew,
You are the one for me and I was made for you!
Goddess Aurora… my glorious dawn you were here,
But suddenly gone…
true love as always somewhere…
Alive, looking sadly down...
A
Tomahawk was a gift by my feet,
A warrior surely thought I'm just white man's deseat...
The Indians were gone as silently as they had come.
Never a coward or strength I lack,
But after that, all just went black as in a sack.
Oh, yessss… But yesterday morning they came
back.
With gifts celebrated like never before,
My Darling Rosie,
my Sweet Love I do adore!
Sugar, cigars and tea went one way and nothing a bother,
Skins, blankets, pipes and strange foods went the other.
A Chief and a Medicine Man pointed to a bare willow tree,
Holding out a bee of pure gold… and staring at me,
Clearly telling I’ve been seen before
in times of yore.
How that could be… I have no idea.
Writing this in a Huron camp,
Again there is no postage or a stamp...
My Love, just like at Waterloo,
Again You came when I most needed you.
Death took Michael Eowan, my little Son,
Even before his life here really begun,
Twins, and a little Daughter... gone as well,
I now can tell,
But neither their mother or me,
Think nuptials are what there now should be,
And if she does, she must find another remedy.
Indeed not nice, but everything has
a price,
I am paying my dues, redemption to find.
Will You truly
be mine?
England no longer a place to stay,
To clear my head I sailed far away.
We are in America, Darling Rosie…
now 1819,
And there is more snow here than I’ve ever seen.
Here
in earlier New France… What irony!
Oh well, the name now is Michigan Territory.
As always with Rob, my best friend,
We’re like adventurous school boys again.
Sharing with General Washington your embrace,
He needs a smile... on his back I’ve painted your face.
You're mine, he's staring at the wall… Doing fine.
Just
waiting for the snow to go… I long for you so!
But only seeing Dover, the wait might be over.
In England you are, I will find you there…
If searching till I’m a hundred… everywhere!
Wait for me! Don’t go away!
YOU are Home and I come to stay!
I Love You to Idiocy! With all due respect please agree and marry me!
Forever and Beyond,
Your Willoughby
Today
is Christmas Day... If I may... Happy Christmas my Love, I say!
Copyright©2012 by Kari M. Knutsen
Not only seeing Willoughby's extraordinary green eyes, the Indians instantly knew... it was him... the great spirit Chief Wildhawk... a legend of many glorious stories...
In want of something more suitable than a piece of wood, Will painted a likeness of his Sweet Beautiful Angel Rosie on the back of a portrait of George Washington (who had served under
British General Braddock in the French and Indian War)... and the unforgiving French Trapper who sold Will and Rob the cabin for 6 bottles of whiskey had left
hanging over the fireplace...
McGregor and Willoughby, very much males and lifelong best friends through thick and thin... no questions asked ever since
they were 7 years old, had grown up to become soldiers and officers. An unbreakable bond, they had always protected and looked after each other often saving each other's lives. Both knew the Indians were awfully good at torturing... not only scalping...
the natives had learned to do from the British... Before going outside all starkers, Will thought he had convinced Rob to take the percussion pistol and shoot himself before the Indians could harm his best friend. Rob however did not, hiding under
the broken cabin window pointing the pistol at Will... ready to shoot him before the Indians could harm Willoughby. After that McGregor would cut his own throat with his Scottish dirk... No decent Scot left home without...
"Nature is the finest church there is and ever was. It is always open and everyone is welcome." William Willoughby 1820