How Droll the Campfire

Singing soul as to fiddle then the crowd does plead Many tales, secrets old, all the news I shall share Circling like stone soup without which it could not be It will rise on end hairs of your neck, this a droll For a wee bit of hearth a morsel will you spare He does tell the amazing stories, songs new some old * A wondering lone stranger sets by the hot fire as story too becomes real children tremble blue But the horrific one stands above a bloody sire A droll teller came in but a killer does sleep Like the piper when he pays his just dues The keeper of the story does also reap * * Singing soul as to fiddle then the crowd does plead A wondering lone stranger sets by the hot fire