Song Of The Troubled One

What the thrush toils at

The partridge asks for

The hapless one takes

The troubled one steals

Puts upon a spade

Sets on a runner

Hides under a door

Shields with a bath-whisk



The farmer hammers

And tempers his spears

Marries off his sons

Hands out his daughters

In boots clogged with ckay

In fancy mittens



The sea-swell rumbles

And the winds it blows

And the king hears it

From five miles away

From six directions

From seven back woods

From eight heaths away.


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