A Poem of Defarge (last chapter of a Tale of Two Cities Project)

(in the perspective of Little Sydney Manette)

When I was only six years old, a sickly but mysterious young man came to the house belonging to my parents, and my grandfather at dusk, and greeted my parents with an empty, but warm smile. He went up the stairs, and found me, a child, and sat down. He proceeded to ask me an easy question, 

“Little Sydney, would you like  to hear a story?”

And I answered, “Yes I would love to uncle Defarge!”

As the fire started crackling, the sad man who had a void in his heart seemingly started to fill with love, and compassion, as he started to speak, and tell of his stories with glassy eyes, happy, but sad. Empty, but fulfilled. I still remember now, and he said, 

A servant to the saver of lives

Assists thy who laughs at those who die

But harms thy he protects with lies

Of assurance, helt & try

While helping thy who laughs at the dead

He tried to help those who bed

But the laugher went for his head (mentally) 

Until he pled to those who led

We’ll harm & hurt those who foretold

Our souls were nothing but breadmold

So we took it fourfold

Until the servant made a mistake

& looked for thy who laughed with ache

But they just wanted to break

What this servant had at stake

& the servant didn’t wake

Until it was too late

Then the laugher perished

Then they finally did cherish

What they had around them
But for the servant, too late.

Though the servant did not foresee

That the laugher would pass

And the servant, crass

Without the warmth of people, he, now pessimistic

Finally does something logistic,

And comes to a place to breathe his last breath

He closed his eyes to accept death

And just like that, he fainted in front of the crackling fire, as I, the child screams for my parents, who came quick, and wept, for the apathetic young man.