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The Beedle and the Deedle

Page history last edited by Volkes_Wagon 15 years, 3 months ago

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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