Hob

We ascended the foaming stair
 To the mouth of the Hobthrush's cave
 Undecanted the hot wine from a nanny's throat
 And placed loaves on the greasy stones
 Our baby's lips are blue
 Our baby's eyes grow dim
 Take it off! Take it off! Take it off - the whooping cough
 And we'd be your eternal debtors
 As the doorway drew near our eldest appeared
 With a bundle in her arms
 It was clutching her tresses and nuzzling her breast
 And the colour was returned
 I used to hold him in the palm of one hand
 Now he's grown as tall as I am
 With the face of his mother veiled in downy gold
 On the broad shoulders of a man
 He is strong with the second sight
 In these parts held in some renown
 Using words not his own he veraciously foretold
 Of a drought when the stream was bulging
 When the pictures become too real
 He buries his nose in the bush of my beard
 And gently pinches my earlobe between thumb and forefinger
 Until the present is restored
 At the murmur of dawn there's a knock at the door
 And a small man standing by
 He is wearing a dogshide and flies for a crown
 One good eye a sparkling well in his brow
 I'd already acquainted myself of that voice
 Before he'd even spoke:
 "I have come to collect what is rightfully owed
 Rouse the boy from slept
 Get him bathed and dressed
 It is time he kept your end of the bargain"
 The bargain
 The bargain