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the uplands of the Scottish countryside
          have held a riddle, many hundred years

a meager man-type creature called a HOB
     creating rumors of their mischief, grand

the tales are often curious and quaint
          replete with random sightings and ordeals

depending on the mind of who you ask
     as some are quite confusing, others clear

most stories say they move about at night
          disguised in skins of sheep amidst the flock

repairing fences, roofs and wagon wheels
     returning lambs when one has gotten free

some tales are told of weary hikers, saved
          of those who'd wandered off, deep in a storm

folks injured in the woods, who fell asleep
     yet woke up in their houses safe and sound

some others tell of sickness and disease
          that somehow found a healing overnight

odd, empty bottles found upon the floor
     that smelled of herbs nobody recognized

the strangest, of some kin who'd gotten lost
          they found them later, frozen, by the road

the bodies had been covered up with care
     except their child, an infant boy ... was gone!

the folks around assumed that he had died
          and nothing else was said for many years

until one spring, a lad walked from the hills
     who spoke a language, ancient and unused

quite recently, a group of science folk
          were digging thru some ruins, near a bog

they came to find a score of little bones
     preserved and buried, deep within the peat

they sent the small remains back to a lab
          and had them all examined close with care

determined they had "nearly human" genes
     but NOTHING they had ever seen ... before

so, if someday you're in the Scottish hills
          and chance to see a sheep deep in the wood

could be, you haven't spotted sheep at all …
     but rather, that a HOB ...

has spotted you!






~ 6th Place ~  in the "A Form Of Mischief" Poetry Contest
Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.

* I chose to write in a version of Couplet form WITHOUT rhyme, called "Couplet Me Entertain You". *
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