- Messages
- 5,108
- Points
- 2,120
- Age
- 77
PISKIES
THAR be piskies up to Dartymoor,
An’ tidden gude yew zay there bain’t.
I’ve felt ’em grawpin’ at my heart,
I’ve heard their voices callin’ faint,
I’ve knawed a man be cruec down —
His soul fair stogged an’ heavy-like —
Climb up to brawken Zaddle Tor
An’ bare his head vor winds to strike.
An’ all the gert black mawky griefs,
An’ all the pain an’ vog an’ grime,
Have blawed away and left en clear
Like vuzz-bush vires in swalin’ time.
An’ what med do so brave a thing
As thic’ white spells to tak an’ weave,
But li’l piskies’ vitty hands,
Or God Himself as give ’em leave ?
But tidden Him would stop an’ spy
From Widdicombe to Cranmer Pule, T
o maze the schemin’ li’l heart
Of every Jacky- Lantern fule !
For mebbe ’tis a lonesome rod
Or heather blooth, or peaty ling,
Or nobbut just a rainy combe —
The spell that meks ‘ee tek an’ sing.
An’ this I knaw, the li’l tods
Be ever callin’ silver faint.
Thar be piskies up to Dartymoor,
An’ tidden gude yew zay there bain’t.
P. Cameron Wilson 1919
Sounds like someone's been on the Dark Matter rum!
THAR be piskies up to Dartymoor,
An’ tidden gude yew zay there bain’t.
I’ve felt ’em grawpin’ at my heart,
I’ve heard their voices callin’ faint,
I’ve knawed a man be cruec down —
His soul fair stogged an’ heavy-like —
Climb up to brawken Zaddle Tor
An’ bare his head vor winds to strike.
An’ all the gert black mawky griefs,
An’ all the pain an’ vog an’ grime,
Have blawed away and left en clear
Like vuzz-bush vires in swalin’ time.
An’ what med do so brave a thing
As thic’ white spells to tak an’ weave,
But li’l piskies’ vitty hands,
Or God Himself as give ’em leave ?
But tidden Him would stop an’ spy
From Widdicombe to Cranmer Pule, T
o maze the schemin’ li’l heart
Of every Jacky- Lantern fule !
For mebbe ’tis a lonesome rod
Or heather blooth, or peaty ling,
Or nobbut just a rainy combe —
The spell that meks ‘ee tek an’ sing.
An’ this I knaw, the li’l tods
Be ever callin’ silver faint.
Thar be piskies up to Dartymoor,
An’ tidden gude yew zay there bain’t.
P. Cameron Wilson 1919
Sounds like someone's been on the Dark Matter rum!
