They plagued us in the woods and wells
But vain is all our wrath and woe
Beside a deep abyss
Will grow
With tower and spire
And overhead
The sign that you and I do dread
Aye
The noisy monster was all but hung
In the lofty steeple
And soon had all but rung
But I was alert
We shall never hear that bell
It is drowned in the deep

By **** and pie
A devil of a joke
I stood on the brink
Of a cliff
Chewing sorrell to help me think
As I rested against a stump of birch
Mid the mountain grasses
As I watched the church
When...all of the sudden
I saw the wing
Of a blood -red butterfly
Trying to cling
To a slippery wet stone
And I marked how it
Dipped and tipped
As if from a blossom
The sweetness it sipped
I called --it fluttered
To left and to right
Until upon my hand
I felt it so gently light
I knew it was the elf
It was faint with fright

We talked of this and that
Of the frogs that had spawned
Of this day that had dawned
We babbled and gabbled
Of much I know
Then it broke into tears
I calmed its fears
Then it spoke
Oh! Their cracking of whips
And they turn and they stop
As they drag it aloft
From the dale below
Is is a terrible tub
That has lost its lid
All of iron
Will nobody rid
The woods of this terrible thing
It could make the bravest
Moss--Mannikin shudder and quake
I swear they will hang it
These foolish people
High up in the heart
Of the new churches steeple
And then hammer and bang
At its sides all day
Frightening all the good spirits
Of the Earth away

I hummed and I hawed
And I said hi **
As the butterfly fell to the Earth
While I -stole off to a herd
That lay up nearby
To guzzle my fill of good milk
I believe three udders ran dry

They will seek in vain
For even another drop to drain
This day
Then making my way
To a swirling stream
I hid in the brush as a sturdy team
Came snorting and panting along the road
Tugging hard at their heavy load
We will bide our time said I
Lying quiet and still in the grass
Till the mighty dray
Rambles by
Then stealing from hedge to hedge
Hopping and skipping
From rock to rock
I followed the fools
On up to the top
They had reached the edge
Of the cliff when they came to a block
With flanks all a quiver
And hocks a thrill
They hauled at the dray until
Worn out by the struggle
To move that bill
Say I to myself
This fawn will play them a trick
And spare them all
No more work today
One clutch at the wheel
I had loosened a spoke
A wrench and a blow
As the woodwork broke
A wobble -- a crack
And the hated bell
Rolled over and into the gulf it fell
It changed and it bounded
From crag to crag on its downward way
Till ...at last
That welcome splash
To the bottom it sank
Where it now lays
At the bottom of the lake
Lost for now and for always
Aye!

The naked trees
wore contoured
sunshine, as the
wind wondered
perfectly at them.
Then there came
a sense of seasons,
of surviving seasons--
watching them...calling
them by name.
This is a privilege,
to survive a cycle, and
call it by name.
To call them seasons
seems softer than cycles...
more long drawn.
Though, the fidelity of
their force is far beyond
our being seasoned.
We should not forget
that we're being watched
by a greater cycle, a
greater season.
Perspective is the luxury
afforded levels of consciousness...
forget-me-nots of wisdom.