TO A BULLFINCH
The Manx word for bullfinch is roo ruy.
Embedded in its branches, the Irish rí ruadh hidden within.
The roots of the teanga, destroyed when the English bearla
was used to capture a dying language. Hurrah for John Bull.
The red lord of the trees sits high upon his branch,
heralding spring with his red breast so like that
of Cock Robin, anglicized from the Welsh, coch rhi ben,
Lugh’s little red lordling with his breast made of sunset.
A brû-dearg or spideóg with messages from the Otherworld.
Who killed Cock Robin? I did, said the sparrow.
He was having an affair with Jenny Wren, the dreolín.
And who remembers the crime that traitorous bird committed?
Who tolled the bell? I did, said the bullfinch
as he hung the sparrow for his well-placed arrow.
You’d think that the arrow maker, the fetcher did the deed.
There was a goldfinch, a chaffinch, all manner of finches
and sundry birds who attended Cock Robin’s funeral.
But only the dove truly mourned for him.
The story got truncated along the way to a bull.
I have never seen a bull with his hangman’s noose
sitting in a tree, nor a bullfinch, for that matter.
4/2/22 NaPoWriMo. variants of Cock Robin here
Obscure words lifted from @Haggard Hawks
No comments:
Post a Comment