Urgle Went T’Warbler

St. Mithens Day, down Shropshire way,
I met a man with a rimlocked hoe,
Who said, not knowing, I suppose
That I would share his path that day.
‘Marry me, for this I’m certain sure,
That those come selling these ways, door to door,
Are on an poor man’s errand, with no pay.
No mission earnings, for we who aren’t rude
Are bound to be to be a touch insane,
And better spoon honey up Rimdale’s Lane.’
That I could not deny, though sweat I blood,
Nor could I be swayed, for it were cloth to me,
The bidden way, spoon and all, to be
And in the hedgerow, as though tokened to sing,
Urgle went t’warbler, and I went mine.

Grayson Ellis (c) 1965
From ‘Urgle Went T’Warbler’. Reprinted with permission of the author.