Where Woolems wandered, west of Wehrle,
and ambled airy Averlune,
there lived a lovely little girl
with hair of golden June.
She swam the Sault Sea, sun and smile,
while blossom-breezes briskly blew
the Inns of Inidyllique Isle
and glens of Goughlin Grugh.
Fair flowers of the Faerie Fields
she plaited into petalled pearls.
Her youth and yearning yet would yield
a crown for golden curls.
And dancing sweet while dolphins dream
in undulating undertow,
she jumped and jimbled by the stream
where fern and fennel grow.
For, as a minstrel maiden, mild
who told the Tale of Trinket Trove,
she chirped and cheeped, the chatter-child,
through Cor McCrumblin Cove.
Her voice it vaulted down the vale
like kitebirds over Killoughee,
but faint and quiet, over quail
that slept beside the sea.
For rippling ran her rhymes like rain:
a zillion zigzag, zipping words
‘xplored ‘xcitedly, ‘xclaimed
to squirrels and hummingbirds.
Far north of Narrow Nook there run
the horses of the Hyland herds.
And ere the evening ebb is done,
and ere the morning’s stirred,
she’d often, out on Orchard Knoll,
in hazel heather’s golden grain
enfold, embracing every foal,
her face in flowing mane.
And where the Woolems wander, wild
and where the western winds did blow
there sang this wise and wistful child
who made fair wonders grow.