The Brindy Weeze was tripping 

along the cobbled beard

and all the kindled brats

stood ‘midst the thing they feared

 

‘twas in the clearing brightly black

brats trundled up the leafy vault

then basking in their troubled hearts

they bawled as one,”it’s not our fault!”

 

A starling winged sky  

stood tall and deeply boughed

And then the Brindy Weeze

wailed at the crowd

 

With fearful shouts and giggling

those kindled brats did clap

for Brindys’ wild howling

made all the shutters flap

 

hearths and homes did lift

with smoking brickled pipes

and all the kindled brats

felt a trembling in their tripes

 

with their dizzied beds 

those kindled brats did cheer

and the heavens bid them all

to hasten and come near

 

squealing beds took flight

on patterned sheetly wing 

and all the kindled brats

dared to laugh and then to sing

 

old Brindy, he grew calm

bid the brats to settle down

and with a feline dream

all was quiet round the town

 

a splendid sun began to wax

horizon orange glowing gold

and everyone awakened  

for the night had grown so old

 

but Brindy lay awaiting

in the tidal stalks of  corn

howling for the night

to once again be born