How this woman came by the courage, how she got

the courage, Henry bemused himself in a frantic hot

night of the eight of July,

where it came from, did once the Lord frown down

upon her ancient cradle thinking ‘This one

will do before she die

for two and seventy years of chipped indignities

at least,’ and with his thunder clapped a promise?

In that far away town

who looky upon my mother with shame & rage

that any should endure such pilgrimage,

growled Henry sweating, grown

but not grown used to the goodness of this woman

in her great strength, in her hope superhuman,

no, no, not used at all.

I declare a mystery, he mumbled to himself,

of love, and took the bourbon from the shelf

and drank her a tall one, tall.