The Tale of the Magicked Lad

He was a shufflin fool, he was. A weaver of confabulations and mystics. With an ole cowlick bouncin higher'n a magpie's tail. 'N he talked a silver talk, full of whisper flutters. He could magick fresh yellow butter 'n bright purple berries. Yes, lawdy yes, he was a treachery, was this lad.

Ole trader-lady Gertie saw the lad a-comin, a-whirly giggin down her lane. She scrunched up her eyes all tight 'n careful gainst the dust that child astirred. 'N she barked 'n she yelped, "Halt your commotionin', laddie. I've apples 'n turnips 'n honeys to sell. Shiny 'n sweet, lovely to eat. Back, laddie, back to the wild-erness with ye, now."

But he was flarin' the scents, all sugary, all fair. Spyin' eggs brown 'n speckled, temptin to his ways. Breads baked up 'n callin' his name. Cinammons, nogs 'n wines deep 'n urgent. Our Gertie, trader true, mistress to none. Our Gertie, womanly-wise but ma to none.

"I've'a run through the hills, over stone, over trunk. Gentled the rain 'n golded the sun. But nowhere in all the hid places is anything so fine as your suppers, Gertie. And so a-supperin' I've come." Now our lad started singin', 'n dancin' his tunes. And he laughed, arms a-flyin' round Gertie struck still. He scampered, 'n skipped 'n he wove spells all bindin'. Bringin' rustles 'n smokes from yesterday places. 'N he watched our ole Gertie, like a daddy his lass. Til the endin' said, 'Stop'.

Then, like a tinkle 'n whistle 'n chime of a bell, called a voice, called a girl barely high as the table all fruited. Called a girl all a-dancin, silly with joy. "I'm Gertie, I'm Gertie, I'm Gertie I am. 'N there are paths to be followed, 'n clouds to be watched. So come on, lad, let's go where the goin's a-callin'. Bring your apples, 'n honey 'n bread hot with butter. Bring your feet all a-leapin', your darklin' ways."

Now when winds just a-rustlin', 'n the birds gone asleep, come the voices merry from places forgot. Come the voices of our shufflin lad and his Gertie sweet.