One night, two flasks,
A room full of mild wind,
A grey paw-licking cat,
And a naughty parrot
A story rising off the kettle
As it goes on with its whistle
Two tablespoons of sugar,
Lettuce, beans, and cucumber,
A very confused dinner
Bat parade,
Early night, coming cold
A gust of breezy wind
But man and pawns gather
To watch the sky full of stars
Tell me an amusing story
One that drives sorrows away
Laugh at me or with me
Sing a song, hum a slow lullaby
Pull my ears and call me names
Let’s ride on a train to Utopia
Grab my hands let’s elope
To fields wild as a writer’s mind
Call my name, bring me back to you
Hold my hands, tell me long stories
Distract me from a sick world
Remind me only of your love
Sing for me dear nightingale
Gather your host of voices
Rant through the early night
Tweet away joyfully from heart
Let my ears quiver from your song
Let frogs and crickets listen to it
To respond with their baritone
Sing for the sweet nectar
For red roses and hibiscus
And the traveling sunlight
Tell the stars your stories
And the wind the days you saw
Let me hear your voice sing for me,
To ring through quiet nights a lullaby
I watch pretty stars glitter
From this fine little window,
When night a perfect picture
Hung across the wide horizon
Fireflies dance around light bulbs
Mighty shadows cast upon my paper
Distracting a work full of life and art
Yet I stare out to behold stars glitter
I love the sound of rain when it hit my windows
When multitude of rain drops descend from the sky,
Splattering, crushing the Earth’s crust, moulding her clay,
Throwing up sweet scents, one unaccustomed to man
The beats create a regular rhythm that may turn to a song,
Caressing window panes, pushing mild airs upon them,
When rain fall on glasses droplets merge into balls,
Which silently rush off in joyful ecstasy and haste
I will tell you a rhyme of the shepherdess who loved her sheep,
She lives in the country and could sing her community to sleep
Twinkle went stars nested far up the pregnant black sky,
When black clouds float, the gathering rain storm sigh,
“It will rain, but it might wait a little,” the young shepherdess prayed
She saw the stars disappear from the midst of black clouds
So quickly she led her tired sheep through the barn door
“Up you go, up you go, quickly climb up the dry hay, up you go”
She took the lamb up the higher stairs where a big lamp hung
The little ones nuzzle, when the shepherdess struck up a song
The country was not so far away, everyone could hear her sing,
And how she sang heartily, that the hamlet relaxed with the eerie wind
Suddenly a stronger wind blew and gave the little community a cold push
“Ah, it’s perfectly monstrous weather,” she said when it gave another swoosh
“I must retire before the storm catch me here,” the shepherdess exclaimed
“But tell me what you will like to see in your beautiful dreams,” she asked
And so because they won’t speak or maybe know nothing to say
They only looked on, blinked sheepishly, then maaa-aa away
Now it rains heavily with thunder,
And with cold, her breezy messenger,
I watch the rain fall from my window,
Fast, soft drops crash into glass panes
This heavy rain ploughed, and sow,
Her lullabic seeds across my land,
Soft, sweet breezes reign with her
Battling a stranger for his umbrella,
In pitch darkness cover, so to mar
The path of this wary stranger
I pity but wait to see this little drama
While it rain heavily with thunder!
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Image from http://www.erdaren.com
… And there’s another rainstorm brewing over this town tonight. Out in the cold street, light bulbs glow here and there, but meshed in grim embrace of darkness itself. I feel the wind lick the skin on my forearm when I hold the curtain to see the rainstorm. There’s a strange but sweet smell, of caked dust mixing with the rain.
My door is thrown ajar, my curtains sail like a mast on a Pirate ship. I lay on the bed, dreams are not so far off.
‘A Little More Prodding, Dear Rain…‘ You won’t understand, of course. I’ve a special connection with the rain. Now I hear the host of Heaven, rain gathering from afar. Crashing into the glass windows and throwing my neighbours’ household into frenzy. Rooftops are the rain’s crazy drum and she plays on them softly.
‘Listen, Dear Rain… Go On, Pound The Earth, Beat Your Drums...’ Aha! A call from an Aunt confirms that it rains Cats and Dogs in Ovim, my hometown and as I said earlier on I’m preparing to travel home tomorrow. Can’t you see? The rain is cleaning up the streets and roads, here and home for my return. Haha, I read meanings too deep but this is me, simple things thrill me. But honestly, I do think that I’m a rain maker.
Good night everyone.
Stars sing your herald
Cold night, crickets quiz
In quietness I lay alone
I used to think I’m a rainmaker but there’s one heavy storm out there and I’m scared of it. A distraction for me though which I love. Recently, I worried so much about nothing. I wondered if the world will ever be the same again after Covid-19. But my faith will have no worry at all. So I’ll put that aside and try to mind the rain storm ravaging my community.
I know those noisy frogs will be happy and I hope the silly mosquitoes are washed away, far from this settlement. My neighbours whistling pines sing a high pitch tonight, the streets are flooded. I’m convinced reptiles will roam about.
I sit near to my window. I hear the storm roar and rooftops dance about. Usually sitting outside is fun but this evening rain is something else. I have had enough rain bath. Now I retire to watch the lightning battle with the wind and rain. Clouds rumble heavily, the lightning flash and then his cousin, thunder frighten me. It’s dark everywhere, so my curtain shows prints of their war. I’m amused.
Life is beautiful, life is sweet. I enjoy Divine Providence and what nature offer, the sweet spring water, the numerous fruits, wildlife, the annoying frog choir and watching babies smile at me.
As I publish this, the storm rage on, a combo of heavy black skies and monstrous wind. But my day is not yet over. Dinner is potatoes and beans. That’s my second love – good food. Gratitude is the best attitude. Good night everyone.
Guess what!
Heaven’s tummy is rumbling! There’s some comfort from Heaven finally! It’s been hot since weekend, coupled with the Covid-19 issue, life has been solitary. Now it’s raining heavily outside! I’m seconds away from dancing in it but the lightning is frightening. I smell the wet dust. I’m sure mushrooms will visit tomorrow, haha. The breeze is flirting with my candle light and dancing with the curtains. The candle light draws a strange shadow over me. What a feeling! A joyful one, an escape from the heat.
This rain is a consolation and an answer to a prayer. Let’s see tomorrow. Good night.
In a village dwelt a poor old woman, who had gathered together a dish of beans and wanted to cook them. So she made a fire on her hearth and that it might burn the quicker, she lighted it with a handful of straw. When she was emptying the beans into the pan, one dropped without her observing it, and lay on the ground beside a straw, and soon afterwards a burning coal from the fire leapt down to the two. Then the straw began and said: ‘Dear friends, from whence do you come here?’ The coal replied: ‘I fortunately sprang out of the fire, and if I had not escaped by sheer force, my death would have been certain,–I should have been burnt to ashes.’ The bean said: ‘I too have escaped with a whole skin, but if the old woman had got me into the pan, I should have been made into broth without any mercy, like my comrades.’ ‘And would a better fate have fallen to my lot?’ said the straw. ‘The old woman has
destroyed all my brethren in fire and smoke; she seized sixty of them at once, and took their lives. I luckily slipped through her fingers.’
‘But what are we to do now?’ said the coal.
‘I think,’ answered the bean, ‘that as we have so fortunately escaped death, we should keep together like good companions, and lest a new mischance should overtake us here, we should go away together, and repair to a foreign country.’
The proposition pleased the two others, and they set out on their way together. Soon, however, they came to a little brook, and as there was no bridge or foot-plank, they did not know how they were to get over it. The straw hit on a good idea, and said: ‘I will lay myself straight across, and then you can walk over on me as on a bridge.’ The straw therefore stretched itself from one bank to the other, and the coal, who was of an impetuous disposition, tripped quite boldly on to the newly-built bridge. But when she had reached the middle, and heard the water rushing beneath her, she was after all, afraid, and stood still, and ventured no farther. The straw, however, began to burn, broke in two pieces, and fell into the stream. The coal slipped after her, hissed when she got into the water, and breathed her last. The bean, who had prudently stayed behind on the shore, could not but laugh at the event, was unable to stop, and laughed so heartily that she burst. It would have been all over with her, likewise, if, by good fortune, a tailor who was travelling in search of work, had not sat down to rest by the brook. As he had a compassionate heart he pulled out his needle and thread, and sewed her together. The bean thanked him most prettily, but as the tailor used black thread, all beans since then have a black seam.
Breezy nights are fun,
Soft air descend,
Caressing the happy curtains,
Flirting with the candle light
And casting a strange shadow
From the pool, the frog choir began
Preparing for their procession
Yet this night is very young
So I wait for the coming rain
And her wonderful lullabic songs
In the morning the mild golden sun rise above the huts and hills
Painting the corn fields yellow and making the streams shimmer
Upon flowing rivers it glitters, till the dead end below a tree root
Big fishes stay ready to strafe up to pick insects off tree barks
In the hamlets, dogs chased cats, children played here and there
Men and boys went towards the great forests beyond the hills
To check hidden traps tucked away or tend to their farm needs
Girls pound yams, making dishes with bush meat from hunters
In the evenings, children and elderlies gather to hear night tales
When the moon light shine and the airs are soothingly mild
Everyone who wished to hear the tale of the night gather for it
And when it is told, even before the tales end many bent snoring…
You may agree with me that evenings are best for story telling. In Africa, evenings are valuable family time. Dinner or sitouts allow time to reflect on the days work: achievements and disappointments, and to tell tales. Tales don’t just act as lullabies but convey moral virtues (and vices) as well.
Now when a story is told in the open countryside, there’s always a fire for warmth and the moon 🌕 will be out to listen. This time around, I’m writing from my bed’s comfort and there’s no fire but a radio here.
Though this Aesop’s tale is old, the moral will never go out of fashion. I hope everyone enjoys it. I will retire for the day, good night!
A man and his wife had the good fortune to possess a goose that laid a golden egg every day. Lucky though they were, they soon began to think they were not getting rich fast enough, and, imagining the bird must be made of gold inside, they decided to kill it in order to secure the whole store of precious metal at once. But when they cut it open they found it was just like any other goose. This, they neither got rich all at once, as they had hoped, nor enjoyed any longer the daily addition to their wealth.
Much wants more and loses all!
It is evening here and I feel like telling you a story. Bring your mat, come sit with me outside, by the fireside and let us enjoy the night breeze.
Once upon a time there lived a set of Crows which plundered farms. Each day the farmers try to catch the Crows to no avail, for the Crows moved in droves. In this same town lived a timid Cuckoo. The Cuckoo became friends with a Crow who introduced him to his group. Now the Cuckoo ate the groups food but whenever they went to plunder he seldom followed.
One day, a traveller arrived the town and during his stay, observed the Crows and offered to help the town. He got a big white net and with the help of farmers tied it on several tall trees which surrounded many farms. It was a trap.
As the Crows planned the next attack, they convinced the Cuckoo to join them. Off they all flew. When they settled to eat, the hidden farmers dropped the nets and it came crashing down on the birds. None could escape!
As the farmers caught the Crows they saw a Cuckoo among them. ‘How come?’ They asked in surprise. But all the Cuckoo could do was cry and beg for mercy. The angry farmers won’t even listen. They destroyed the Crows with the Cuckoo.
Morals : It is wise to know who we call a friend. If a thief is your friend, you might be mistaken as one. So being cautious and careful of our company is important.
What is the sound of lullaby to you?
Is it the touch of raindrops on rooftops
Or the mild, soothing voice of love?
Will it be a swift palm upon a light drum
Or the Sparrow singing her heart away?
To me, lullaby is a touch to the soul
What the body is too heavy to feel!
Fast falls the evening, mild breezes, cold rain, rinsing the dusty roof tops
Dark clouds shadow the moon, the evening is left to wander alone,
Trees bow to the swift wind; bending, twisting; left and right
But the night was agog with life, the breezes an excuse for heavy sleepers
A week before the heat was sinister, intense but the rain has come
And has come, to usher in the harmattan to the quiet countryside
Water dripped from tree leaves, the evening kept songs unsung
Smell of dust cloud the hamlet, the Night herself a little cold
And when the rains came softly, the pattering on the rooftops sang
Yet crickets quizzed themselves from their hidden citadel
Making this quiet and fine night, Mother Natures own lullaby
I hear the wind howl through the gaps,
Through the minute holes which stayed in the walls
Pushing, hissing it went, pushing the books on my laps
Turning the pages without my consent, winning it all
The wind disturb the happy quiet night
Making the room look like a party hall
While I tried gathering my loose book pages
The curtain and the candle dance away, wildly
Stars won’t fall from the skies
Even though the wind sound heavy
Watch it, observe well with your eyes
For such nights seldom come rarely
When the humble evening quarreled with the travelling day
It turned out not to be wise, for the aftermath brought grim dismay
The aftermath, a heavy storm came riding on her way
She pulled stuff along, anything that went astray
Tearing, pushing against the curtained doors and windows
Flirting with the wind, so that the candlelights danced without care
First it seemed all will go upside down, like a swirling tornado
But as the storm came the streets got littered like the Lions lair
Windy airs ghost around, bound to the East or is it West?
Daring to tumble, to take on all that lay on her fiery path
The mildness of each burst of air, a reminder that the night is set
And that airs like the ones of the sea brought tidings as sooth
Now sweet breezes and mild whistling from the Pines nearby
Class out a host of unseen voices which sang a melodious lullaby
Another evening, another night
The day is gone fast asleep
All about is darkness, moonless
Safe from stars, up and white
Which shone upon the sheep
And upon the Shepherds stress
Always, it is airy in the country
The folklore is the peoples joy
Now and then, the bard came
For boys and girls, it was night of stories
To the children, a night with playful toys
And in the mornings, all will never be the same
The shepherd lay quietly on a soft bed of feathers
Counting the stars that glitter before his eyes
Listening to the sound of the dancing wind
And to the snore of his neighnor, the oat farmer
He lets the queer lullaby play, finding a smile
For soon, a touch of sleep came descending
Shadows
Fall behind the mud huts
They paint soulful images,
Like the web tent of a black widow
Hanging like a carefree skeleton
And the brown stains from hands
Old or fresh which design the walls
Silhouettes
Fall behind the palm trees
They draw strange figures,
One like the village masquerade
which dance heartily on happy festivals
The other like the mad man
who travelled all about the hamlet
The sun travel home after the days work
And all we have become is an airy evening
THE NIGHT
The night is full of fresh air
One which come with the wind
Talking of the Wind, she is irresistable
Sweetly, comely to the flesh of men
And a quick aid to the lullaby’s effort
RAIN
It seem it will pour heavily, sometime later
For the Lightning had come to snap pictures
Of the Earth and the men that dwell therein
And if it won’t rain, maybe the wind will go
Just maybe…
THE NIGHT SONG
The several songs of the night now come up
‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star!’ How I wonder…
The ceaseless episode of the wailing bull frogs
And the fire bugs and warm crickets wake
Night birds; bats, owls and the rest
The hundreds of night voices unseen:
The wolves in the fields
The hovering mantis
The insects, the hogs
The things that walk the night
Gross and fair, thin and huge
Small and great, hideous and free
All in local unison sing a song like the choir
And rest on the night for their cover and shield
THE CHIMNEY
Down the chimney, a lot of drama unfold
The tongues of fire lick the woods quietly
The smoke move like a puff of air, rising into the air
And on the chimney lay a wake of dust, coal and soot
Have you ever been on the pathway to sleep
And all you could see was circles
spiralling
twisting and falling like mild paintings
on the wall?
Strange as it seem…
The queer songs of the night
come alife
the sweet tune of the frog choir across the road
where the rain water log…
And the treble voices of the cricket clan
play a wonderful track, which accustomed to the night
brought some relieve and some (sooth?)
The night throws a black blanket
over the tired earth
From a window, yawns filter in
there are other activities…
Nothing to interupt a well deserved sleep
Good night, sleep tight
May Gods angels keep you safe
Darkness falls…
The cries of night wolves and wild dogs
Rent the airs far away deep in the forest
The wind grew milder, the moon light brighter
And the sweet lullabies ring out from homes
A tradition, one which the little ones adore
The evening simmer into a deep darkness
As the African tales went on, on bedsides
So went the day, in this quiet hamlet
Once upon a time…
It was a night of bitter cold
And snowy storms gathered,
The weight of snow lay thick
Upon tree leaves and branches
The slopes wore a sore face
For the ice cold winter air
Was so cruel to the night
The little lake was half frozen
And the ducks flew away
To vacations in other lands
The moon was quite bitten too
For she went pale with each burst
Of the ice cold wind
And the animals suffered frostbites
Several snow balls raced down
From the clouds, falling in circles
With the wind blowing them off
Swinging about like the dance of the flame
Upon a straight candle…
The Ice King stood motionless
Admiring the triangular Mountain
Which stood at the edge of the forest
Birds came to lack their songs and voices
For the moisture on their beaks was gone…
Gone with the freezing hands of the Night
The squirrels and hamsters stay huddled
Waiting for the morn, for the sun to rise
But the Night was way too young to go
So in mockery, she teased her inhabitants
The deer, the moose, the doves and the owl
No one was bold enough to walk the night
Even the trees on the forest wished for a citadel
It was severely cold; terribly, ferociously cold!
The wolf pack came bounding in from the hunt
Eyes red like the smoking sulphur, hungry and bent
Under the tree shed, just beneath the tree roots
The rats burrow, seeking the dark earth to warm up
Partially avoiding the new arrivals, the wolf pack
For they were rude and ruthless like the cold night
‘I wonder why the Night is at her worst tonight’
The leader of the wolf pack began with a sniff
‘See! I can’t even feel my fur, it is terribly sinister’
Another wolf called out to the hungry pack
‘Maybe the Night is heartbroken, can’t you see?’
The ferns that grow by the tree roots said
‘Or yet the Night is wooing the heartless Mountain
With her face turned to the east of the forest’
The turtle dove on the tree branch offered
‘I agree totally with you’ a dark Cricket quipped
‘Nonsense! I say she is confused, absolutely confused!
How can she ever love with such coldness?
How can she be heart broken and punish others with her pain?
I say she is a confused person, and so she is!’
The leader of the wolf pack suggested, angrily
‘As for me, it is not adequate enough to conclude why,
But pain and love can also cause persons to grow cold’
The philosophical woodpecker reasoned
When the night shroud falls across the land
The stars glitter like the tip of a witchs wand
The moon wakes to the tune of the crickets
And the people dress themselves into jackets
The windows creak with each push of the air
The mighty wind just came with her wares
To the dark clouds, a streak of lightning shine
And the tall Whistling Pines set to whine
On the rooftops, the vampire bats congregate
For any stray insect and rodent they quietly wait
The moon light gave her fluorescent light
While the surging wind swept the hamlet
The nights are like firecrackers
To the sweet dreams of a laborer
The sweet recall of the days work
Come back to one as in a snore
Once again, to the warm bed we will retire
To count glowing fire bugs of the quiet night,
And all those beings that litter the dark firmament
A time for some joyful carnival and amusement
Tap tap tap tap…
The first drops fall,
Look up, and see a battalion
Rushing down in haste
Scattering in multitudes,
Causing ‘chaos’ to the city
Splashing happily, joyfully
Upon all who dare stand before it
The night rains are nice
When they come with the wind-
With a very strong wind
It made my curtains dance mad,
Throwing up stray papers
And wooing my candlelight
Which drew a shadow on the wall…
Light are the rains upon the roof
Falling like a thousand little drumbeats
Smacking away, thoroughly the roofpans
Drawing nearer the sweet echos of sleep
Throwing rain drops on my window glass
And training the fatigued to acts of slumber
Like the Qasaqasa drums their beats fall
The rooftops tremble with those touches
Millions of them, hitting the roof tops
I am left to greatly wonder
Why the Rains drums are milder
The Winds feel on the skin softer,
Even as the raindrops fall and scatter
And throwing into our pots clean water
Straight from Heavens store house!
Dear diary,
Night falls now…
The city is quiet
Save from toads
Out in the field
And wild crickets
Hiding on the walls
The distinct noises
Of a quarelling couple
Disturb my thoughts
Down on this bed,
I count the days work
There were strange clouds
Up the clouds today
There were tales in my mind
And a quiet time…
Each in different times
Brick walls of school
Playful kids all about
But hey, maths is important
So you must pay attention
Pythagoras, Guassian, Boyle
Books…
There’s a pile on my bed
ODM, Igbo bible, NIV, etc
Teachers Math guide, hmm
A feel of mental work
The streets…
And from the window
The bean-ball vendor
Hawk her products
Nothing really changed
The bank…
Fidelity, we keep our words
Okay oo, I heard you
Then: Have a nice day!
They shout after me
Okay, Teevee…
Flipping the channels
BBC, Brexit, Aljazeera, EU
Obama, Buhari, Ali, Trump
France, Syria, Biafra, Venezuela
Food…
Pick of cracker biscuits
Vit. C, Iodine, peppery soup
Some heavy carbohydrates
And a taste of garlic
The streets busybodies…
They stare always all times
Like very seriously?
You do see me pass
Thru here always, don’t ya?
And street again…
Went strolling and visiting,
Fascinated by the peace in me
Even though the world
Seem to fall slowly apart…
I wonder
What our world
Is fast becoming,
And why kids die in vain
While nations watch war films
But now I recall all
And hope for a better tomorrow
As I retire for the day!
The clouds gather
And in her wake
The evening turned black
Clouds gather above the sky
As light showers try to descend,
The showers fall on the clay
As beautiful humid smell arise
The clouds gather
Above the little town
She wakes the lightning
And all evening
The lightning took shots
Of the warm wetlands
Sending a cold surge of air
Flinging stray papers and silt
And making dresses dance
But all men must retire
For fear of the coming storm
And the asunder it brings
The night fades slowly
Cloak of darkness fall
As the crickets prepare
For another night song
Bonfires lit the night
To keep the wild dogs off
The children set the stage
For a moon light folktale
And beneath the stars
The small hamlet waits
“Come, come closer…
Keep your palms on mine
Look into my eyes
See how much you mean to me”
1
Come and feel my steel shine
Call me your gladiator
Your defender, your shield, your man
I am your shepherd
2
Have you seen my birds cackle?
Call me your farmer
I will press the Olives into your palms.
I shail help your dreams grow
3
Come and see my musings
I am your mouthpiece, your pencil
I will sing with my croaky voice
All night a lullaby will be, by the fireside
4
Come be by my side
I am your lover, and your my lover
We will make this companionship work
I am your friend, made just for you
“Oh goodness it rains!
The windows clap about
And the curtains dance
To the wooing songs
Of the sweet airy Night”
And I can feel the rain drops through the window
And the smell of the new rain upon the dusty roof
The curtains blow up and down my weary face
All is cold, all is warm, all is truly entertaining
Oh, lullaby; mother Natures’ drum keep playing…
What sweet sleep the shepherd observes
For the Days toil has come and gone
And I upon my bed listens to a song
Which no voice or choir can ever sing
But to my bed sitted by the window
I lay bare-chested tossing about
From one end of this cold bed
To the other side by the window
On this beautiful rainy night
One of blessed airs and wild winds
Tuning in high pitches, sweet rendition;
A lullaby I can not find elsewhere…
I must say a good night to you all,
Oke Iroegbu
Now let’s have some evening breeze
And with it let a tale about it be told
Always the night is cold but noisy
Creatures of the dark and creepy places
Move about, bothering the peace of men
The sounds of the night is strange
But to some, it is a great acquaintance
A reunion of two different worlds
One, the quiet and the other, the unquiet
The Night plays several lullabic songs
She is skilled with the strings of music
The sides of her mouth sings gaiely
She wakes the black and brown crickets
Letting the streams of queer music flow
Unified beats and rhythms of the night
With the spectators watching, the stars
And their grey solitary cousin. the moon
Watching the procession of quiet hymns
Nature stay smiling upon her providence
The drama that unfolds when man watch her
Mother Nature plays the strings of my heart
She sings in a sweet alto voice, confusing me
And with her fine soothing breezy touch
She plays her fingers upon my hairy arms
Like the soft caressing skin of a snakes velvet
She lays by my side to whisper her tunes
Cupping her hands into my long ears
Frankly, the bed is the best thing ever
To happen to a shepherd or a farmer
For it had been a long and hectic day
Though he had little naps along the way
The wailings of the young ram and goats
Disturbs his sleep; he swerves, he waits
He leans forward, allowing his ear to pick up strange noises
For a stray fox, allowing the tip-off to come with the breezes
And when the roosters call out to him
It comes like a blessed sunday hymn
A rendition, a call he has grown up with
And now he can decipher all with his wit
When morning came and the sun arose
He also rises, even as the early cold wind blow
Reaching for a nice and warm silk cloth;
Off he goes, marching away from his tent
Towards the farmstead, which he loved
And muttering to himself, he solemnly prayed
Wishing the flock well, and hoping for a better day ahead
Greeting the flock, he wanders in steps calm but bold
And each time, his joyful smiles know no bounds at the sight of his fine flock
Grazing at the lower vales, with a pond before him and a family of waddling ducks
Crickets are my best insects
But why? I know not
They stay under my bed
And cry out till I have an ache up my head
But what they say also I know not
Though I think they talk about broth
Wonder why little insects
Grow even beer intent
They growl, some bark
And all these come to my back
‘Stop’ I would shout
‘No way, you are talking to yourself’
I wonder if they cared if I was asleep
‘Who does he even think he is?’
They squeak behind my hearing
Not knowing my elfy ears pick all
‘Yaaay! Let’s shriek more!!!’
They stubbornly seem to say
When they seem to hear me snore
Come what happens or may
The shrieks and strange crickety talks
Come to me as disturbing lullaby
Now I will be your cook tonight
Tell me what you desire most
Anything, rice, pies or Turkish delight?
Now I will be a carpenter, why not?
To mend the boards and all things
Do good, get me my hammer and mallet
Now I will be a stone, nay a rock
You can call me the rock if you dont mind
And the heads of foes we would break
Now I desire to say a lullaby
Ba ba bo, ba ba bo, ba ba bo bo bo
Oh the rhymes I seem to forget dear lady…
Now a funny tale is told, thank God!
A tale teller I do dream to become
Tho I, a wild, fun, food-loving dude
Tonight it showers outside
Dark clouds all over the skies
And a very strong wind
Forcing itself thru the windows
Pushing the cotton curtains away
While a light rain falls
Not a sound is heard
But a swooshing wind
And some pat-pattering
Of stray raindrops
Falling on the pavements outside
And some, boldly on the windows
The night is cold
The wind is busy
And the rain is here
My bed calls me
And there we must go
