Remembered rhymes whispered on winds,
with tradition and superstition skimmed,
Morality forged in iron-aged bones,
where Smithys extract swords from stones.
Red skies and mackerel scales
Weathers woven into folk tales.
Murderous corvids fortune tell,
And swallows bring a summer spell.
February may give snow, and April showers,
March roars in with gusty powers.
Melding golden, Goody wisdom,
To idiot's idioms in feudal kingdoms.
Blacksmith strikes while the iron is hot,
Farmer's sun-kissed leazings plot,
Shepherds curses, Miller's tales so wise,
Enthralled to gods of earth and skies.
Four for a boy, buns for a daughter
A gift horse cannot be led to water,
Too many cooks, and sleeping dogs beware,
And carry your basket of eggs with care!
Long before dogma conquered ages,
Our leafy lore attended biblical pages,
Local legends alloyed to a mythic core,
Extracting truths from Nature's ore.
Suzanne Fairless-Aitken
