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
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