Once
upon a time there was a baby who appeared from nowhere
Mr and
Mrs. Wheater were amazed
They
gazed in wonder at the boy for a whole day and night
For he
was like a piglet with bigger feet and no tail
The
baby boy gurgled and gurned and was fallen in love with
Yet
As the
sun started to warm the earth
And
rouse the chickens
Worries
arrived within poverty
The
farmers gnashed their teeth and wrang their hands for hours
It
would be good about now to see and heed a sign
A sign
that all would be well…
They
decided to ask the village elder if they had been blessed
After
his breakfast of worms the elder came
He
entered the hut and squinted at the wrinkly pink child
The
boy wriggled and squealed and played with his feet
The
elder gave a sigh but smiled and placed his palm against the boy’s sole
The
foot and hand were exactly the same size
Ah!
And
then tickled the infant’s little pot-belly
The
elder looked at the parents with his watery eyes
He shall cause upset wherever he goes
There
was much nodding
Nodding
He was
offered his payment of a fistful of eggs as he left, softly
The
poor parents hugged each other and sobbed with woe
And
did not hear the elder as he popped back in to say
In his
forgetful way
He shall be a cheery child, as happy as
a mucky hog
True
to foretelling
The
boy crashed blissfully through his young life
As
soon as he could walk there followed a trail of brokenness
Doors,
carts, barns and bones
As
soon as he could talk he could apologise
And
always with a smile so genuine that he was quickly forgiven
He
would burst like sunshine through the most humdrum days
He had
his head rubbed or patted umpteen times a week
And
was always being given a turnip to take home to his parents
But
time forms shadows
And
age makes weary
The
villagers started to tut and cluck
They
watched the boy’s poor father work hard to fix all the broken things
They
knew of hardship and would help out
Releasing
the father from his duty
So it
was that as the boy grew the father fell in to debt
The
villagers became dismayed at this mess in their midst
It was
time for a gathering
There
and then it was decided to place the boy into the apprenticeship of the Smith
This brought gasps and sobs of horror
And
woe
From
the boy’s mother
Who
imagined all sorts of catastrophes involving fire and molten metal
The
Smith would have sobbed too but he thought it unbecoming
The
mother was calmed as
The
village elder explained the ruling
The Smith lives on the outskirts of the
village
So the boy cannot cause too much mayhem
The Smith can forge strong chains to
keep the boy in check until he learns
The boy needs something to occupy
That wandering mind and those waddling
feet of his
All at
the assembly murmured and nodded approval
They
looked at the boy
Who
had been seated serenely throughout the hubbub
And
they were filled with a warm glow
They
thought themselves wise in their solution and slept soundly on it
By the
age of fourteen the boy had become the best Smith’s striker in the shire
His
hammer blows rang out from morning until twilight
Farmers
came from outlying boroughs to purchase the sharpest ploughshares anywhere
His
muscular legs had developed in proportion with the once cute cumbersome feet
that propped them up
His
arms were full of knotted power that had older milkmaids yearning over their
buckets
His
handsome face
Once
so open and sunny
Was
now dark all day with concentration
His
brow was thick with soot and sweat
His
mouth was permanently twisted with effort
Even
in sleep
Which
was deeper than he had ever known
For
now he had no time to dream
And he
never smiled again
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