Twiddle me a rhymeTwiddle me up a rhyme, says Sally, Striding by my side; One to make me feel so jolly, On this Eastertide. Sally and I are out a-walking, Through this April morn; In nature only now a-waking, To the year new born. Arm in arm through fields we wander, Soft in April rain; Bound in Winter's ice no longer; Free of Winter's pain. Through the churchyard gate we saunter: Flowers tight in hand; To the mound where lies our daughter: Sister to the land. Twiddle me up a rhyme, sighs Sally, Though no love be gone, Time's enough since harvest sorrow, 'Tis planting time again. |
Gay Noses (and other queer appendages)
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Ink Amera |
(C) David 1/9/2007 |
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