mischief -
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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". *
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2018
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