The burnt stone’s story
In the early morning, ahead of the rising sun,
We lit the fire before the house,
And left to get the day’s work done.
Shouts from the village disturbed us in the field.
We ran back to our home
to find the breakfast fire a-burning.
Across thatch and daub and through a doorway
The gentle fire had flown.
Again I watched my house turn black as I had seen before.
My enemy this time my own lack,
Instead of dreaded neighbour.
Three times I’ve been forced from my ground.
By invading foreign hand, and now,
by my own thoughtlessness,
I’m forced to build again.
It is the lot of landed men,in these times of many kings,
To loose your home to favourites.
But by your own stupidity
Is a very bitter thing.
Page last updated: 29th Nov 2017