"childer" poems
COME round me, little childer;
There, don't fling stones at me
Because I mutter as I go;
But pity Moll Magee.
My man was a poor fisher
With shore lines in the say;
My work was saltin' herrings
The whole of the long day.
And sometimes from the Saltin' shed
I scarce could drag my feet,
Under the blessed moonlight,
Along thc pebbly street.
I'd always been but weakly,
And my baby was just born;
A neighbour minded her by day,
I minded her till morn.
I lay upon my baby;
Ye little childer dear,
I looked on my cold baby
When the morn grew frosty and clear.
A weary woman sleeps so hard!
My man grew red and pale,
And gave me money, and bade me go
To my own place, Kinsale.
He drove me out and shut the door.
And gave his curse to me;
I went away in silence,
No neighbour could I see.
The windows and the doors were shut,
One star shone faint and green,
The little straws were turnin round
Across the bare boreen.
I went away in silence:
Beyond old Martin's byre
I saw a kindly neighbour
Blowin' her mornin' fire.
She drew from me my story --
My money's all used up,
And still, with pityin', scornin' eye,
She gives me bite and sup.
She says my man will surely come
And fetch me home agin;
But always, as I'm movin' round,
Without doors or within,
Pilin' the wood or pilin' the turf,
Or goin' to the well,
I'm thinkin' of my baby
And keenin' to mysel'.
And Sometimes I am sure she knows
When, openin' wide His door,
God lights the stats, His candles,
And looks upon the poor.
So now, ye little childer,
Ye won't fling stones at me;
But gather with your shinin' looks
And pity Moll Magee.
2.3k
Assiduous aster couple
Defendant's of moral code,
Picking plenty of garden truffel's
Elation of electrology gonidium grove
Flex branches
Flexed to granial proportion,
Mad hatter like parkway's
No psychedelic distortion
All is real here
Tis the Jasmine's are kept in Jardiniere's
Kaddish shalt be spoken in different language
Blessed holy every seven years
No keno like chances
All is predetermined fate,
Candles on ourn table
Lap-robes to fit ourn date
A dame to all remission
Whilst Damiana to lax ourn sense
Chocolate bag's of smothered kisses
Ourn bodies to eachother to taste as mints
We shalt leave the world on doorstep
Coronet's upon ourn domes
Coroniform shapely spirit's
Corposants of ourn own ghost
Correlation of childer childe
Chimeres to glaze ourn agile
Fragile as pottery
Ourn story is painted upon!!!!
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 11:57 AM UTC
What shall we eat,
My tiny man,
With fingers white as bone.
The black bird nest
A badgers breast,
The story fom a stone.
Who will pluck my eyes from me,
The wriggling tongue that gibbers,
The earthen sod,
The Ravens nod
The moon out from the river.
Bat speak violin,
Toad speak drum,
Fly childer, raise skin
CreepWillows hum
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC