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Here is one I wrote for my kids.
THE TROLL OF LAMPSWICK
The bridge at Lampswick has always been there
And the Troll to the capture of small children too
Though the folk tolerate the small tragedies
For the Troll would bring them fame is true
They thought to be finally rid of him
And they offered an Urn of pure gold
Many came and ask what task to do
Then left when they were told
All but one,a young women fair
Who went to the Troll to talk
He came from a shelf under the bridge
When across it she did walk
He asked her what soul had she
To take on such a fearsome task
For in truth he was an awesome brute
She stood quite tall, then spoke at last
I know your deeds my dreaded Phooka
You spread the lies about yourself
About how you eat the little children
And wait there upon your shelf
But why only mistreated children disappear?
The truth is stranger still
You gather them to your Faerie home
Just under this very hill
You give them love and wholesomeness
For in this world they had a lack
You give them truth and the way of things
When grown you give them back
Lords and Ladies every one
The pride of human kind
With warm memories of their childhood
And the love they did there find
For an ugly Troll who hid himself
To become their one true father
A teacher of love and the wisest ways
No one could take them further
The Troll sat down and began to cry
For all she said was true
She said don’t cry my fair prince
For I have come to marry you
With such a family grown so large
By the neglect that’s in the world
A woman’s hand could well be used
With this from the Troll smoke did curl
And there stood before her a kindly man
Fair of face, strong and straight of limb
For all his love the spell was cast
Again to the man he once had been
He lost his child one sad sad day
And chased her to the nether lands
He saw the care her little soul received
Yet still he made his demands
When those who guard that Kingdom fair
Saw that he did not belong
They sent him back quite quickly
In the Troll form he held so long
But he knew of the other worlds
Some dreary cold, some like paradise
So he vowed to help the children
Who suffered their parents vice
When one who came loved him still
In spite of his awful looks
Those who guard the Kingdom
Opened up the treasured book
And gave him back his former shape
And forgave his one grieve borne trespass
For they, these two, had found the whole
And through the Fearie gate did pass
To gain the children Underhill
And bring them to this side
To live a fair and goodly life
The Lord and his new Bride
More @ www.klstoryteller.com
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Why is doing what you love the hardest thing to do? Is it because failing what you thought defined you would be too devastating a thing from which to recover? If so, we stay where mere accident has left us.
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