Song of Sleepyside
by Shana
Listen!
The wondrous story you shall next hear
Is not for the faint of heart.
Wizards and warriors and maidens fair
They all will play their part.
Remember the village of Sleepyside
By the banks of the Hudson it lay.
Oh, sweet, placid village of Sleepyside!
Where once life passed slow day to day.
On the outskirts of this village,
Along the Road of the Glen,
Four houses, of course, one’s a cabin,
Concern us all now and then.Manor House is the grandest estate
High on a hill it doth stand.
Contains it does the House of the Gate
Unseen, but still there on the land.
The Wheelers reside at this courtly address
A daughter and son they share,
Hon’y-sweet is she, full of tact and finesse,
He’s known for his flaming red hair.
Honey, the Seamstress, is known far and wide
For talent with needles and thread.
But Jim has an honor that matches his pride
And a question: when shall he wed?
The houseful of servants wonder and wait
To see what their master shall do.
Miss Trask, Tom & Celia, say ‘At this rate
We’ll all see gray hairs e’er he woo!
For he’s all but decided on young Lady Bea,
But he still gets distracted. That lump!
We watch and we wonder, why must we see
How the worthiest always get dump’d?’
At the stables, be warned, the servants all say
Lady Bea is clearly at home.
For the groom, it is said, waits for the day
When Fair Trixie no more shall roam
But remain by his side in a cute double-wide,
Perfecting her fence-jumping skills
Until blue in the face (it shall just match her eyes)
And the equine life lose all its thrills.
This is the world at Manor House.
These are the men who would wish
For the depth of their passion to rouse
The true love of the little Dutch miss.Newer by far, but palatial in size
The Lynches keep their kin
Home to the girl with the violet eyes,
Two boys and two girls – each a twin.
But Diana, the artist, is the focus of this
For she yearns for the heart of but one.
His heart it beats steady, but his lips do not kiss
The mouth of the girl. ‘I condone
Circumspection’ quoth the Brit butler.
(He deems youthful passion a crime.
High spirits and too much of laughter
Result in a true waste of time.)
The others agree, Diana is fated
To a life full of bounty and grace.
But she’ll never be loved (and often be hated)
Because of her beautiful face.
Beauty, 'tis said, hides the truth from us all
In the curves and the lines and the charm
And her beauty hides more than the redwoods are tall –
She yearns for the boy at the farm.
Only he can see through her, steady and true,
Only he can be faithful and kind.
But he’s just a poor boy and that day she does rue
When her father great wealth did he find!The cabin, it stands in the woods cold and deep
Home to a wizard of wood.
Home also to one whose heart it doth beat
For a lady so smart and so good
She could only be blue-eyed, golden-haired Trixie,
True love of his uncle, and friend.
Sweet-natured and fun-loving pixie,
She shows no interest in Dan.
Poor Dan! Alone and forgotten,
True son of mis’ry and fear.
He hails from the streets of Manhattan,
But holds nothing quite so dear
As the friends and the family he’s found
Since leaving that horrible life.
Once, penitentiary-bound,
He looks now for Home and a Wife.The fourth house is tucked in a hollow
Sheltered from evil and harm.
In goodness and mercy they wallow
They call it Crabapple Farm.
Among the gardens and forest,
The hens, the snakes and the dog,
The Beldens live well but they’re hard-pressed
To rise up from their middle-class fog.
Brian, the eldest, resembles his Dad,
A doctor of med’cine to be.
He can’t seem to act without thinking ahead
Truly, a rare quality!
Next oldest, a brother, Mart is his name
A talent for polysyllabism
Renders his speech an annoying game:
Decipher each witticism,
Insult and comment. Simple? For sooth!
Of course not! It’s tiring, I tell you!
Boring and bogus, and more to the truth,
It’s worse when he works to devalue
The gifts of his sister, the sweet Lady Bea,
Who dwells in this house-full of men.
For Beatrix it is we all come to see
Solve crimes and other problems.
Missing persons, lost jewels and eerie, ghostly
Phenomenon – all her purview.
She conquers each trial and each time safely
Yet all tell her "Trixie! Take care, you!"
For the men in her world think she’s careless with life
They all think they know what is best.
But giving her orders only adds to her strife
And their attitude causes her stress.
But Trixie continues to give them the time
Of the day and, what’s more to the point:
She thinks they are right (ain’t that a crime!)
And she tells them each time that she won’t
Do anything foolish, headstrong or rash
She won’t take a risk or a chance.
Yet each time that she does, she finds in a flash
Whether Ozark or England or France,
Her aid is important, her work necessary
And her attitude clearly the best!
But she’s still a young girl, and thus in a quandary:
What shall my life bring me next?
A husband, a family or maybe career?
Will I ever get out of this dress?
Modern woman am I! And though I hold dear
The men in my life, Jim and Dan,
Regan, Nick, Ned and Pete, even, I hear,
Spider Webster, I don’t think I can
Ever cling to one man. Am I doomed to a life
Without children? A husband? A home?
While my girl friends desire to be called a wife,
I truly desire to roam.
Roam wide and far, roam wild and free,
Away from this sleepy old town,
From the mountains up high to each jeweled sea.
I just want to – just once – get around.
See the sights of the world, the people, the land
And the problems that that can accrue.
Then, one day, return, and perhaps give my hand –
To the man that I would have me woo.
But who should that be? Who’s right for old Trix?
Who’s worthiest? Strongest? Most fair?
Is it Dan? Is it Ben? Perhaps it’s old Nick?
Is’t that man with the flaming red hair?
(Which one?) There are several, they all fit the bill
And there’s one who wants me by far.
But I’m stuck for a clue. What should I do? I’m ill
And it’s all been their fault!
Sick at heart have I been, for they’ve not shown they can
Encourage my dreams large or small.
But tease me by turns, and show they’re no fan
Of my skills. No, they haven’t at all!
Perhaps I’ll forget them and turn them all down.
Perhaps I’ll forsake every man.
Perhaps I’ll be single, perhaps I’ll have found
That I may do whate’er I can!
These are the thoughts of the young Lady Bea,
Barely one score Springs has she seen.
But she’s stuck for an answer, where can it be?
There is no place she hasn’t been.
It’s the grandest of mysteries, the oldest of all
It’s of utmost importance to solve.
What can it be that makes this huge ball
We call Earth turn and revolve?
Each man and each woman, each in their time
Finds this answer and each will agree
That Love is the mystery, the answer, the rhyme
And Love is the Reason to Be.The question before us, the mystery we share
Whether Aussie, Southern or not,
Is when will Trix find it? With whom shall she pair?
Will we all still be friends at this spot?
If she prefers another, then what shall we do?
Someone will be very sad.
But Trixie must grow up, eventually, and, too
Someday make someone a Dad.
As long as she’s happy, so says this poet,
That means I’ll be happy, too.
So I guess it don’t matter (wouldn’t you know it!)
Even if it’s You-Know-Who!This wondrous story, it wasn’t, I fear
Quite the tale you expected at all.
No warrior bold, no wizard clever, no fair
Maiden chained to a wall.
Just a poem about something so common and rare
That it defies description.
That’s all. Just some words about nothing. (D’you care?
D’you mind?) This encryption –
‘Tis not what I planned for this spot. It is more.
It’s a paean to emotion, an ode
To the lovelorn, the hopeless, besotted, adored,
Who must choose the love-likeliest road.
If you’ve gotten to this, you’re much stronger by far
Than my husband, who’s fallen asleep.
I had read him these lines, hoping memory would jar
But instead he’s gone off counting sheep.
So I leave you with this, gentle reader, a jest
Made in strictest respect for the girl:
If she can’t read her heart, perhaps it is best
That she doesn’t exist in our world!Oh, remember the village of Sleepyside
By the banks of the Hudson it lay.
Oh, sweet, placid village of Sleepyside!
Where once life passed slow day to day.