He drags you to the cave by your haer
Posing for neanderthal cave writan
Feeds you off meat from the ban
And brushes your haer with his fingeras
“Blurt!”
But he singan it as canticle
He works the wyrm around his fingeras
***
You moil across the mire
Bog buggered wolfskin boots
The brume so dense you leave the stratosphere
Return to the weoruld, the bog now loam
Bundle up a faggot to burn at the cairn
A hearth in the Heorot of the hollow to ward off the gastas
The blat of the sheep
Ringing alarums from feor
***
Dicgian a barrow for your historical novella
The shite will grow flowers over tima
Scarf the acknowledgment page
The paper sacrament, receive the Housel
Clepe it “Blurt!” and burn it as it’s asincan
Eftsoons, you’ll find your Grith
Amongst the windig sides of the cumb
***
But “Blurt!” you hear it’s heawan
From beneath the loam
The cairn, ablaze, on fire
The hillside quakes, a living tomb
***
Travelling feorweg
Tramping ‘cross the felds
But still, the “Blurt!”
Keeps ringing ‘cross the hills
By a burn that leads out to the flod
You dip your toes and wash your face
And steady as the burn does flow
The “Blurt!” it follows bans
Out to the holh
***
Have you got that nice Mr Chaucer out in them fields again? 😁