Fiddo the Fiddler

Fido the Fiddler

Was want to climb,

On brush hills,

And dust hills,

And fine hills of sand.

‘Higher and higher’

He cried to his piper.

For up to the top

He would,

he MUST go!

Till one day in spring time

the land all went flat.

Not a mound,

Nore a peephill,

Not even a bump.

He ran hither and tither,

He ran to and fro!

Till at last he sat down,

And with a tear in his eye,

He said “play me a derge,

My fine piper, my lad.

And I’ll play along.

We’ll play such a sad song

T’will tear up the sun.

We will out morne the wind

And out cry the waves.”

So they wined and they wailed,

On their instruments twain.

Then at once,

It all happened,

And it happened again.

The earth was thrown up,

With a sob and a cry.

It heaved

And it bellowed,

It wept

and it cried.

It hickuped

and coughed,

It wheezed

and it sneezed.

And with every emotion

that it burped up or choked,

It threw up,

It tossed out

A great fountain of dirt.

So werever it landed,

It heaped up so high,

that all and around them

As far to be seen

As ever they could,

Rose up small hills,

And big hills

And great mounds of dirt.

“HARAYYYY!” shouted Fido,

And up with a leap,

He sprang and went running,

His mountains to meet.


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