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