Sickness claimed Matthew.
Not hunger or lack of faith.
It was too much.
To strike him down with unavoidable truths.

He didn't deserve that.
To live under stretching shadows.
Following him wherever we went.
In a world bereft of compassion.

With armed guards patrolling night and day.
Threatening beggars and waifs with imprisonment or worse.
I was the sole coin in his purse.
With me he could buy all the happiness his imagination could afford.

Together we stole to fill our bellies.
Hid to elude capture.
And invaded a nearby tavern to lift our spirits.
Maidens took great pains to dissuade.

Luckily I was equipped to persuade.
Finding myself without coin, Silence would have to suffice.
Song would have to wait, as it always did.
Matthew, pitiable and stricken with illness.

Attracted concern from all around.
Within these painted walls of red and black.
Where men threw back.
Speaking from the heart unfiltered.

He was a touch of humanity in a place of escape and denial.
Many of the serving wenches had children.
Or knew of youngsters battling disease and faced with hunger.
He was unaware of my plan.

Naive beyond measure.
He'd stand there to soak in their companionship.
Even ignored as he was he still fed off them.
He was a fool, he was my fool.

And I played him as such, acting on our behalf.
Without compunction I waited outside.
Waiting and scheming to steal that which young hands.
Can never grasp alone.

A stumbling *****, often heard spewing falsehoods and spittle.
Emerged dumb-footed and large of head.
He'd be off to a bed a woman.
Of ignoble birth no doubt.

Who or why I couldn't spy.
A reason to care.
He wasn't dressed in white and green.
So alone he would likely dream.

In place he wore what he could find in store.
A purple vest lined with silver trim down the front.
Wrought iron buttons kept his blonde wilderness in check.
I could smell the metal.

Of coin held in pockets.
Jangling in my head, soo near at hand.
Dangling from a strap at his waist.
I found fortune's place.

He turned to face me.
But saw nothing within that bush.
Hiding my likeness from his clouded eyes.
And blunted intellect.

Soft footfalls neared proximity.
Slipping silently with blade in hand.
I severed ties with wealth and redistributed it to me.
To us and our needs.

That swollen pouch fell to earth.
I caught it wearing mirth.
As it landed in my left with a plop.
I knew it to be heavy as a sack of bronze potatoes.

Harvested plump and earthy from stainless soil.
Unadulterated and free from trickery.
The goody drunk did well to not notice me.

His life wouldn't be the first.
Forever shall I be his left-hand girl.
And he my right-hand boy.