One Dimly Lit and Shadow Morn

One dimly lit and shadow morn Outside all made of weather. A cor’d o’ blimey son was born Drooped in an angel feather. ‘Are you the lady of the lake?’ I asked in spectful tone. ‘The one with dodgy handlebrake And speeches like a phone?’ ‘Indeed I am that holy man.’ She answered all a sieve. And leaking me a secret word One she could only give. I followed like an acrobat Half juggling at the moon. And knowing this was where it’s at Ate Elvis with a spoon. A bacon with its rind cut off Came ambling like a Sunday. And leaner than a racing sloth It giggled like a Monday.