The Shrew who knew.

I met an old lady in the forest today,

A weathered tarmagent shrew,

She bound me in the noose of chat

and told me all she knew.

She said “clipping hair is a waste of time

it always grows back again

despite the fact that it's dead,

and died free from pain.

People are like childhood diseases,

endure them and quickly pass on

by the greedy and well dressed, they're vulgar,

ignore them, they'll soon be gone.

The practise of hardship

is the one true religion,

Reason has no life of it's own,

the back stroke of revenge swims everywhere,

thought and tongue rarely agree,

you must trust yourself alone.

Colourful and useless as a cage of canaries

are the colons and commas of the mind,

a morsel of ground, a handful of grains,

are more than enough to bind.

Condemn the parson, poverty,

never neglect the poor,

care for the sick and the maimed,

banish disease from your door.

Fence only with words, sing with the birds,

make friends with bramble and tree,

pray direct to your maker

to guide all your dreams

and set all your losses free.

There is no evil in the bag of sin

where is the law for mute swans?

the clay is your mother and father

only earth can loosen your bonds.”

“I'm off now” she said, “I have further to go,

and must gather fresh herbs for my tea,

think of me now and then, and if you have time

say a prayer for yourself and for me”.