Engage well in tickles an’ laughter…
It makes the nights longer and dafter…
To comedy’s dance
Ye can come in yer pants…
But make sure yer cleans up well after.
A butcher’s nah judged on ‘is walk,
Or graces or fancy talk…
I’s sure ye’ll agree
‘Tis the good quality,
An’ the size of ‘is finest pork.
A seaman, inside a crow’s nest
Seeks decision on where ‘e shall quest.
Whether South, to the trove
Of a warm, tropic cove…
Or North ta the mounts ‘e likes best.
Oh moon, so creamy, face so fat,
Ye cheeks a-ripe for pinches…
Let me give ’em a little pat –
Orion’s belt grows inches…
‘Tis nah so shy this happy moon,
Uncovered by the night.
And rarely does ‘e come too soon,
Ta cause a heavenly fight.
And so, to heated eve’s heartbeat,
Let moon shudder wi’ bliss…
And scatter stars across night’s sheet
Before the mornin’s kiss.
‘Tis Beltane, where the boastful sun does go
ta battle wi’ the shady twinklin’ frost.
So gather ye ta kneel an’ quiver so,
Lest grasses thin an’ herd grows gaunt an’ lost.
Show they all, in shortened sleeves an’ looks,
Ta meadows come, beholden ta the sun.
They’s essence bulges out as tiny brooks,
An’ onward ta the salted cradle run.
See a lass, wi’ yellow flowered hair –
She will draw like waxing sun the men,
To light they’s fires an’ place they’s maypole there.
With risin’ heat, ah… raise that trunk again,
And we can twist an’ twirl our ribbon dance.
A few sips of a sweetened mushroom brew,
An’ ‘ere Queen Passion reigns our fiery prance…
Protected by a veil o’ honeyed dew.
And he who gentle cups a warmin’ hand,
To give heat to a long-preparin’ tree…
Shall see small petals, on ‘is thumb unfanned…
The fragrant blossom opens ta the bee.
Come we all ta revel, fear, an’ lust:
‘Tis Beltane, an’ we hopes the fates be just.