Story Of The Footloose

Sister of the night; a winter morn

Whilst my comrades indoors dreamt

A delightful sight; an obscure form

And just one lonely bed unkempt.

 

Not the earliest ray of dawn

Nor it’s gabber of conceited sun

Just the lonely Magpie song

And the return of Her prodigal son

 

I was your God’s begotten child

Pity you never heard my poem

I was the screamer of screamings wild

Pity I was only a prodigal son.

 

I now wake into the greatest dream

Into the morn by magic thus kempt

Now for the screamers deepest scream

Lonely no more; only a bed unkempt…