Saturday, 20 May 2017


Hare In A Basket:
A Song
Out at midnight, confused by dark,
The old lady walked in the Tavistock park.
Her basket filled with turnips and bread.
She thought this a dream and she still in bed,
still in bed.
A little white hare, the color of a star,
Came scrambling along in fear from afar.
And right behind her the Wild Hunt came,
Ravaging the moon and calling her by name,
by name.
They ran on the black stones, they ran on the grey;
They'd come for the kill but as well for the play.
They slavered and howled, their eyes flashing red.
They wanted that rabbit, and they wanted her dead,
wanted her dead.
With one swift motion, the old lady bent,
and into her basket the white hare went.
The Hunt caught her up and Hern bent down.
"What's in your basket? he asked with a frown,
with a frown.
"Beets and bread, both blessed by the priest,
I'm off to the fair to sell all my feast."
The dogs they cowered, the Master he spoke
in a voice like a sword and a word made of smoke.
made of smoke.
"If this be a lie, then you soon will be dead."
"But all mortals die, sir," the old woman said.
Then Hern gave a growl and the Hunt moved on.
The old woman waited till she knew they were gone.
they were gone.
the Hare hopped out, now a lady in white.
"You have done me a service this terrible night.
In return your cows will give triple milk.
You will dine on cream, you will walk in silk,
walk in silk."
So, if you've a chance to do a good deed,
A basket of turnips may be all that you need.
Plus a swift right hand, and a tongue like a knife,
And you'll be set up for the rest of your life.
All the rest of your life.
Jane Yolen
Art Amanda Clark

No comments:

Post a Comment