Blinkered

Come inside, my brown-eyed girl
Sit you down right next to me
and look in to my crystal ball.
Tell me, now, what do you see?

She sat herself beside the crone
who smiled at her so sweetly-kind
and ventured forth in to this game
to see what in the ball she'd find.

She peered in to the murky glass
and it did clear; as plain as day,
before her eyes a scene did pass;
I see a paddock of mown hay

The crone did look herself, then said
This paddock of mown hay you see;
I don't know what's inside your head.
It looks like shards of glass to me!

Look again my pretty dolt.
The girl did look; A fine white steed
but the crone saw there a gangly colt
I think I understand your need!

Aghast, the lass did take once more
the chance to look in to the haze.
She peered right in and what she saw
did startle her; she was amazed;

For in the ball a blood-red rose
did offer up its sweet perfume
and turning to the crone, she said
Come, gaze upon this pretty bloom!

The hag did look and cried, forlorn,
How can your view so clouded be?
Mine own old eyes espy a thorn
Remove your blinkers and be free

The old one showed her to the door.
Brown-eyes wept. The crone did sigh
Why be surprised that what you saw
turned out to be a hideous lie?

The brown-eyed lass went on her way
pondering on what they both had seen
Thorn - rose? colt - steed?
glass shards - mown hay?
Perchance it all was just a dream!


Zannie