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Aug 2019
So, on the morning of his sixteenth birthday, Doby Greenhorn prepared to leave. He packed some provisions; a compass, a large box of matches, some rope, a leather bottle full of water, a little money, a sturdy walking stick and some other odds and ends his mother threw at him. And, as the poem goes…


“As I set out, in early morn, the whole world for to see,
These are the things my blessed mother, came and said to me.”

“Beware the fettered Giant, In the valley down below! Restrained by iron ringlets, near the well where lovers go…

Beware the flaxen Ferry, if you see him down the lane, he’ll offer you the world and more, but only bring you pain…

Be not dismayed by goblins if they’re out during the day, just teach them a new riddle and they’ll let you on your way.

A blackened cat upon the road will bring bad luck it’s said, unless you chase it down at once, and beat it till it’s dead!

But most important, is that song, which lures all men near… The sound like golden honey being spooned into your ear! A song which sparks that deepest longing, a sense of warmth and cheer!

The song of evil Sirens is the thing which most I fear…

So put thy hand across thy breast and make a solemn pledge, to never follow lilting tunes up to the waters edge!

And if you do, and see a maiden bathing in the sun, more beautiful then any queen that ever had been won! With eyes as green as sun bleached moss and face pleasant and fun, Who’s magic makes it quite impossible for you to run!

Then draw thy dagger from thy waist and place it to thy beating heart, and plunge that steel with all thy strength, to lay thy noble breast apart!

Far better be, to take thy life and keep thy soul embowered, then ever kiss those bitter lips and have thy flesh devoured!

For Sirens never eat the dead, and though thy blood runs ruby red, thy honor rests upon thy head, and follows thee to life after…”

”I made the pledge, and kissed her face, and off I went my path to chase! With dagger hanging from my waist… That dagger dangling at my waist… “
This is a small piece of a story I wrote, about a very unlucky boy named Doby Greenhorn.
Josiah Israel
Written by
Josiah Israel  Michigan
(Michigan)   
819
 
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