The Beedle and the Deedle
(by VW)
The Beedle was a rooster—yes
A rooster of the highest blood
Descended from the throne above
Upon the roof of thatch and mud
And sang his songs in the morning.
The Deedle was a bird of prey
Whose ragged crown flashed scarlet
In the growing, glowing sun of May
And feasted on the flesh of mice
And sang his songs in the morning.
The Beedle sat bemoaning once
Upon his throne, so small and plain
Looked with greed at Deedle pounce
And tear apart the prey once slain
Roaming the forest in the morning.
Majestic forest; so grand indeed
Leaves of emerald, river of diamond
All of this the Beedle envied
And most of all the Deedle’s crown
That shone like rubies in the morning.
Now the Deedle here; don’t take it wrong
He never thought Beedle would kill
And saw him rather as King of All
The Creatures with mind and will
Living under the sky in the morning.
With a cuck-a-doo the Beedle
Could contain himself no longer
And called to him the Deedle
In frantic voice and tone
That beautiful day in the morning.
“Deedle!” cried Beedle
“I’ll kill you today! I will
That mocking crown on your forehead—
I’ll take it, I’ll take it, I will!
You’ll be dead by tomorrow’s good morning!”
The Deedle was quite badly shocked
And said, with a hop and a flutter
“I’d fly if my heart wasn’t so firmly locked
To loyalty for you, strange lord Beedle”
That brilliant May in the morning.
But so mad was the Beedle
So bent was his rage
He chased Deedle still
Who stood trapped in the cage
Of pity as the sun rose that morning.
Then the farm man came
With his rifle and all
And Deedle’s leg was shot lame
But Beedle dropped dead
And was eaten for breakfast that morning.
The lesson of this
Is that greed will pay
If you try to kill for the crown
And when you’re the target, just fly away
Towards the red sun in the morning.
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