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A Winter’s Tale
There’re many strange and spooky tales,
That come from England’s hills and dales.
When Winter tightens up its grip,
As feet and fingers start to slip.
For on a cold December day,
I ventured on the upland way,
A spell of solace for to find,
From Worldly worries on my mind.
But clouds came streaming from the West,
With stinging rain, I did my best
To keep a straight and steady track.
There was no chance of going back.
By then, my vision went askew,
I stood, not knowing what to do.
As to the storm, I turned to shout,
“My glasses’ lens has fallen out.”
I searched in vain around that spot,
But could I find it? I could not.
My lens was lost and gone for good,
All swallowed up by English mud.
And so, alas, I turned around,
Descending to the nearby town.
I turned to gaze from off the bridge,
“My lens is somewhere on that ridge.”
It rested there till Summertime,
Emerging from the Winter slime.
My lens, which from the mud did peep,
Was noticed by a passing sheep.
Now sheep, they say, from rams to ewes,
Are not possessed of high IQs.
It picked the lens from off the ground,
Then licked its lips and wolfed it down.
It rested in this creature’s gut,
Till Autumn, when this sheep was put
Into a trailer heading for,
A far off, distant abattoir.
This factory that never stops,
Converted him to juicy chops,
Delivered to my local store,
I stepped inside and purchased four.
My chops now sizzled in the pan,
As supper for this hungry man.
I sliced the first with tender care,
But guess what I discovered there?
My lens, it had returned that day,
Once lost upon that upland way.
I danced across the room with glee,
So pleased, again, that I could see.
.
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Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.
Jeff, besides being so well-rhymed and metered this is a fantastic story that makes me wonder at your imagination, or even better did this actually occur. Perhaps it is just as well we do not know, since it can send our minds into other climes of serendipity.
This certainly did not occur. It is pure poetic license. If a sheep were to swallow a glass lens, the lens would pass through the stomach and intestines of the animal and be excreted. It would never be absorbed and assimilated into the flesh and muscle that are the source of mutton chops.
Joseph, thanks for the comment. Yes, the whole thing is nonsensical, as you have explained so eloquently. I can never look a sheep in the eye from now on.
Thank you Roy for taking the time to comment. The only bit of truth is the lens getting lost in the mud. The rest is pure speculation. In fact, the whole idea is a pile of nonsense. However, I did enjoy writing it. Best wishes from over here.
Circle of life, dude. Or something.
Great stuff. The tale gallops along, punctuated by guffaws, until the final denouement.
Thanks for the read.
Thanks Paul, we all need a guffaw from time to time, especially this week.
Jeff, I thoroughly enjoyed this expertly woven “tall tale.” SUPERB job on the
detail-by-detail plot!
Janice, thanks for your kind words. It is just a bit of fun, not to be taken seriously at all.
Hilarious!
Thanks Cynthia. Best wishes to you.
I like it, Jeff. Absurdity of events is a motif in which you’re an entertaining expert. The rediscovery of sight in this tale would be dim and dull if you had returned to the upland way and found your long-lost lens in sheep excrement. There’s so much more pizzazz in the impossibly sizzling chop! Your most memorable story, to me, remains “El Chapo,” one where herculean labor and happenstance are all the more absurd. You can even naturalize absurdity of effect, as in “Avalon.” There the man and woman doing internet dating expect the impossible ideal (as so many do), and yet manage to strike up a relationship anyway after a good laugh over their deceit in sending one another far out-of-date photographs. You revel in the nonsense as no else can!
Margaret, any comment from you is priceless and I am going to nail this one to the wall. Thank you so much for taking an interest in my output which I am always humbled to be included amongst so much poetic genius, yours particularly. I delight in the absurd. It started many years ago with the great monologues of Marriot Edgar, and via Jake Thackeray to the great Pam Ayres, perhaps our greatest living poetess who has been delighting audiences over here for decades. Thank you so much for cheering me up today and the best of wishes to you and yours.
My favorite line:
Now sheep, they say, from rams to ewes,
Are not possessed of high IQs.
I was reminded of John Muir’s comment that it takes a whole flock of sheep to make a single dumb animal. Delightful tale. I’m going to read this to my grandkids next week when they come over.
Thank you TM. We have a phrase in the north of England, “As much use as a sheep’s thank you.” This originates from the process of rescuing a sheep stuck on a barb wire fence. On being released from its torture, it kicks you in the teeth. Hope the grandkids enjoy and thanks for your kind comment.
Jeff, what a giggle-inducing treat in a world that has forgotten how to laugh. With perfect rhyme and rhythm, you have managed to offer me a dose of just what is needed to make my world lighter, brighter with the sort of poetry that cures all ills. For that I thank you wholeheartedly! More please!!
Oh thank you Susan. I managed to perform this at our music and poetry evening, to an audience of about 30. There was much tittering and guffawing at the end. I am hugely chuffed that I made you smile, as your “Tilted Tales” have just done to me. Hope you are both ok. Texan weather over here at the moment. The best of wishes star poet.
Huh! What?! Take me back to old Kentucky. This plays well here.
Hope the spirit of the great Stephen Foster endures out there. Thanks for the comment CB.