The Goblin Chair

Oh no, you must not sit there

For that is the Goblin Chair

There at twilight sits the Goblin King

He will not brook the thick-skinned sins

Out they come in their Sunday best

Oh, but they are poorly dressed

If in that chair you were to sit

Your own brief life would be forfeit

For it is beyond the wit of a hungry man

To see what an old goblin can

They walk a road long and fine

Far out beyond mere mortal time

They remember far and wide

The fates’ ever changing arcing tide

For the golden centuries they shed a tear

Now stood on the curving edge of fear

They are the broken man’s last brittle hope

As they send out their woven rope

A tiny lonely thin red wool skein

A shaft of light down a country lane

A sound, perhaps a tiny bell

Sounding out a last soulful knell

Tales of wing and hoof and horn

For the homeless come beaten, shaven and shorn

Oh yes, they have their tales to tell

For those left who will learn them well

They lead the shades of our neighbours down

Of red and silver, blue and brown

The silken, scaled, feathered and furry beasts

With old apple stories must they eat

Is it really beyond the wit of man

To see what an old goblin can?

Oh no, you must not sit there

For that is the very last, Goblin Chair

Amanda x