Friday, April 27, 2012

The Female Paul Revere

First off, I don't have anything against oldy Pauly baby.
He was fabbity rabbity. I even have, sitting in my cubicle, an antique blue and white Paul Revere teacup and saucer! Yes.

And he served America well, though I think he should be more renowned for his artwork (engravings and prints). He actually did this famous rendition of the Boston Massacre:

But he was an adult--41 at the time of his ride--and a man. Which was a safer gender to be, back in the day. There was a girl 25 years younger than him that did the same thing, and rode TWICE as far as Revere, and she needs a helluva lot more credit!!!

And so, I present to you, a poem written by yours truly. Dedicated to Miss Sybil Ludington.
Disclaimer: I am no Longfellow.

Paul Revere in a Dress. By Mare.

Listen my friends as I tell of a lass
Who could hand Paul Revere his sorry ass.
Few know the tale of this young dear
That made a trip superior to Revere,
but has been neglected as time has passed.

Her name was Sybil Ludington, she was sixteen
And daughter of a Colonel in the Revolutionary time.
Though young, she had the spirit of a Marine
and vowed to give all to aid her country’s climb.
She had no North Church, no signal light
But when her family heard of a British attack
she jumped from her bed and into flight
to warn the countryside from horseback.

She ran outside, out into the rain
And onto her horse to spread the alert
She battled the elements, the night, the terrain
Determined to spread the warning word.
The moon rose high to light the road
as to Mahopac she rode southward,
Cutting fields and across where a spring flowed
Musing on the colonizers she abhorred.

From Danbury, Connecticut, she saw the fire
as the British burned the town.
She whispered a prayer her mare would not tire
And shivered in her drenched nightgown.
Miles and miles she doggedly rode
Calling out to the militia to rise.
In the distance the fiery Storehouses glowed
As Sybil increased her cries.

There were British soldiers and Loyalists in the area
Sybil had to get around to succeed.
And she did so without hysteria,
Navigating shortcuts on her steed
She avoided capture as she spread the word.
North to Stormville she now turned,
her body aching, her eyes blurred,
But still her devoted patriotism burned,
and she rode on.

At one point she was offered help,
Which she eschewed
By a man who would ride alongside her.
She nodded, said, “I’ve got this, dude”
And sent him to warn those in Brewster.
The militia gathered at her father’s house
And went off to fight their foe.
If it hadn’t have been for Sybil’s rouse,
well, for that we’ll never know.
The militia couldn’t save Danbury,
the fire was too far gone,
But because of the warning and their hurry
They got their foe on the run.

As for Sybil, that badass chick,
She rode forty miles that night.
That’s twice as much as Revere, that brick,
Who gets credit because he’s a guy.

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