Lasher

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The sow came in with the saddle.

The little pig rocked the cradle.

The dish jumped over the table

To see the pot swallow the ladle.

The spit that stood behind the door

Threw the pudding-stick on the floor.

“Odsplut!” said the gridiron,

“Can’t you agree?

I’m the head constable,

Bring them to me!”

MOTHER GOOSE

IN THE BEGINNING was the voice of Father.

“Emaleth!” whispering close to her mother’s belly while her mother slept. And then singing to her, the long songs of the past. Songs of the Glen of Donnelaith and of the castle, and of where they would sometime come together, and how she would be born knowing all that Father knew. It is our way, he said to her in the fast language, which others could not understand.

To others it sounded like humming, or whistling. It was their secret tongue, for they could hear syllables which ran too fast for the others to grasp. They could sing out to each other. Emaleth could almost do it, almost speak-

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