Legend of the Ghost Panther
Author: Mary Martha Pike Straw - (c)2009
On the banks of the St. Francis
On the Missouri side
Near the white Chalk Bluff
Where the river gets wide...
Back in the bar pits
Deep in the slough
Where the cypress trees grow
And the people are few,
Here the lonesome dove coos
And it said you can hear
A bone chilling cry
That causes great fear.
The Black Panther he's called
By most of us here
We've heard him and seen him
From far and from near...
He only appears
When a dim moon is out
When the mist is thick
And the hoot owls shout...
He's been here for ages
When the continents were one
He lives among us
Our land is his run.
In all of the animals
Of earth and sky
It is said the Ghost Panther
Should never perish or die...
His presence is eternal
As he stalks the land
He watches in Silence
Each woman, child, man.
He wants nothing from us
But just to exist
In body and spirit
His noble rein to persist...
Is he real
Or just folklore
An omen, alter idem,
Or Pallida Mors?
Perhaps he's a figment
Of our collective imagination,
The subconscious fears
Of man's Indignation.
Or is the Black Panther
An ancient spirit guide
For mankind to heed
For all to abide?
May we learn from his silence
And profound primal stare,
His confidence and instinct
Of men can't compare.
Black velvet gone wild
May the legend live on,
The Ghost Panther roams
In the realms of beyond...
Mary Martha Pike Straw
copyright 2009
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