The Milk from the Tinker's Cart

This poem - eventually - became very useful in a comic interlude in a fantasy and magic novel of mine - Mike Miller and the Warlocks of Bucharest. I say eventually as I wrote the original version many years before even having the idea for the book, but all it ever needed was the right vehicle to bring it alive again. I found this in the form of a ghostly Irish show-band who performed a concert from beyond the grave, terrifying students from Aberystwyth University into the bargain. So, sit back, and let ‘The Dead Leprechauns of Tralee’, entertain you with this little ditty. 

The Milk From The Tinker’s Cart!

One day as I sat on a tinker’s cart,
Twas early in the morn’.
I started drinkin’ a jug of milk,
Just at the break of dawn.
Well I drank and I drank
 and still there was more,
And it tasted so creamy and fine.
Then you’ll never believe what happened to me,
Just by the old Kerry mine.

With a twirl of his head, the tinker-man said,
We’re off to see Brian Boru.
The horse flapped his wings,
And the cart took right off; 
up high in the air we then flew.
We soared up so high
 and looked down from the sky,
Upon pixies a-ploughin’ the land.
And I’m sure that good old Saint Patrick,
Had a jug of ale in his hand.

Then we heard a shout, it was something about,
‘Now don’t be late for the ball!’
Then I was amazed, as me eyes they did gaze,
Upon leprechauns two foot tall.
Then our journey was ended,
the horse he descended,
By a lake full of old Irish brew.
Then I lifted me head, and I saw straight-ahead,
The old castle of Brian Boru.
 
I walked off to see, what’s waiting for me,
In the grounds so wondrous and fine.
There were nymphs and fairies all flying about,
And gargoyles a-gushing red wine.
Music and laughter were heard from the house,
When a little green man said, ‘come in!
Is it whiskey your tipple’, he said with a giggle;
‘Or brandy, or maybe a gin?’

So I walked through the door,
And twas there that I saw,
A goblin a-bangin' a drum.
‘Well, who have we here?’ said Brian Beru,
‘I am awfully glad you could come!’
Inside that big house, well I feasted me eyes,
Upon maidens a-dancin’ a jig.
Then all those still able, then sat at the table,
And feasted on duckling and pig.

Old Brian himself he did stand up and say,
‘Friendly elves, please welcome our friend!’
Then the dwarves who were seven, said,
‘Welcome to heaven! 
This is our world without end!’
There was porter and stout, 
And whiskey about,
And barrels and barrels of bitter.
So I had me fill, which made me feel ill,
And made everyone laugh and then titter!
 
Then the lady elves stood
And they bowed and held hands
While the fiddles struck up ‘Riverdance’;
I was coaxed to take part but I hadn’t the art,
And fell down and split open my pants.
The dwarves, elves and goblins went right into fits
And the King laughed so hard he went blue
 ‘Argh now begorrah!’ he said with a slobber
‘Is there anything else you can do?!’

Well I’ve never felt so happy and free,
And I felt I was turning the tide;
Until I awoke on that tinker’s cart,
With an empty jug at me side.
I’d swear on me life, even swear at me wife,
That I couldn’t have felt more serene;
Till the tinker did say, in his kind Irish way,
‘You’ve drunk all me flippin’ pocheen!’


(Yes, yes, I know it should be potin, but the phonetics do the job nicely methinks )

Tags: happy, humor, rhyme, imagery, weird,