Authors Note: "ahh."
By: Kelly O'Kelly
I pause at the spring, to take there my fill,
Me think I shall climb, upon yonder hill.
When I met an old Wizard, all crooked and gray,
To which are the words, he had to say.
“Son Ye can’t find Ye cherries, above Cherry Hill,”
For yesterday fore you, I drank me my fill!
So me want up and climb, to get of the tree,
From the prime of the peak, albeit for free.
Draft of that water, for you’ll need it to climb,
The trail of the Sultan, Ye are hoping to find.
A thousand rare cherries, so ripe and so red,
Ye fills, Ye thinks waiting, be all in your head.
A’s no want to tarry, reach draft of the swill,
“Son, Ye won’t find a cherry, beyond Cherry Hill!”
Hence I drank of this water, for me trekking up there,
Yet it broke me and bowed me, while showing nay care.
In a white puff of smoke, he float hence of my sight,
Old wizard of word, had swift taken flight.
Low me get to the zenith, the cherries are mine,
In the path up the mountain, I started to climb.
Me struggle be furious, the sweat on me brow,
Old wizard of word, me now show you how.
Gave gore of me body, and win what me find,
The meshes were plenty, but prize so sublime.
Me mouth parched as ashes, me head in a spin,
I reached the summit, hardly to win.
For grew not a tree, nor me ate not my fill,
No cherries were waiting, at the top of the hill!
Stood a thousand sweet nymphs, round the wizard in love,
Nay that wore white, as the pure mourning dove.
“Son Ye can’t find a cherry, don’t Ye have a clue?”
Ye cherries are gone, I climbed here fore you!
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