THE LOWLAND WYNDS

A ferryman down the fairy grot

Shall come with figs hackberries

I shall await in morny bight

To fetch the water shines

Betimes I saunter and scrump

A hamper rife with golden hives

With barques of brine I oar across

To the coast of lowland wynds

Here goes a bloke, the fair of Isle

A lad I love for merry

Though he the prince of many

Mounting through woodlets by

©LIL ARCHA