Old Esmé dwelled in the forest so deep
Leaves dimming light for darkness to keep
sorrowful secrets that caused her to weep
and lash out in anger and pain
Alone and abandoned, no deeds to forsake
Enthroned on veranda she shivers and shakes
When in roams a wandering slithering snake
who offers to hide her from shame
Was she right, was she right
to listen that night
Was she right, knowing snakes may bite?
The snake said to Esmé, as it lay by the fire
‘Now that you’ve blessed me’, with a hiss and a smile
‘I vow to protect thee, fulfil thy desire
and ward off inquisitive strangers’
For many long years, the snake kept its word
It fought off hyenas and hunters and birds
Any who came to unearth the interred
and all who come wishing to change her
Was she right, was she right
to help herself sleep at night
letting snake choose whom it should bite?
Sat safe within bricks, on a warm patch of dirt
Distant snapping sticks put the snake on alert
Its mind transfixed, ‘She cannot be hurt!’
as it slips out with darkness for cover
Awoken by shouts and gargling screams
Esmé rushes out, still half in her dreams
Among the bushy sprouts, the result of her schemes
The snake and her dear murdered brother
Was she right, was she right
to keep herself safe at night
Was she right, knowing snakes can bite?
by Josefus Haze and Iona Sheppad