Distangle fangle from the yore
To ken the roots of yon afore
And see whereof they tread
A roguish minstrel, cowlish clad,
With spritish garb, a-prancin’ mad,
Bridged east the river bed
He came a prancin’ oh did he,
As like the wind with a fiddle-dee-dee,
As like as like a clown
He waltzed and hopped and twirled about
Whilst passing through the old redoubt
Unto the midst of town
Children flocked to hark his air
Resounding from the market square
Pervading every nook
They waltzed and hopped and twirled about
From all around the old redoubt
To chance a better look
He shimmied left, he darted right,
And marveled at the wondrous sight
As wee ones danced along
He raised his pipe, began to play,
And all about began to sway
Enchanted by his song
“Come hey, come hence, come fiddle-dee-dee!”
His call was as the roiling sea
That pilfers from the dunes
Now with his ducklings all-in-tow,
He swift bridged west the river’s flow
Beguiling with his tunes
Applied the minstrel to his pipe
And nary tot nor guttersnipe
Were wont to be unled
The wee ones went unto his tune
That vexed the waning heart of June
And to the mountain fed
And all of them are dead
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 8:28 AM UTC
Distangle fangle from the yore
To ken the roots of yon afore
And see whereof they tread
A roguish minstrel, cowlish clad,
With spritish garb, a-prancin’ mad,
Bridged east the river bed
He came a prancin’ oh did he,
As like the wind with a fiddle-dee-dee,
As like as like a clown
He waltzed and hopped and twirled about
Whilst passing through the old redoubt
Unto the midst of town
Children flocked to hark his air
Resounding from the market square
Pervading every nook
They waltzed and hopped and twirled about
From all around the old redoubt
To chance a better look
He shimmied left, he darted right,
And marveled at the wondrous sight
As wee ones danced along
He raised his pipe, began to play,
And all about began to sway
Enchanted by his song
“Come hey, come hence, come fiddle-dee-dee!”
His call was as the roiling sea
That pilfers from the dunes
Now with his ducklings all-in-tow,
He swift bridged west the river’s flow
Beguiling with his tunes
Applied the minstrel to his pipe
And nary tot nor guttersnipe
Were wont to be unled
The wee ones went unto his tune
That vexed the waning heart of June
And to the mountain fed
And all of them are dead
