Scoggin - a coarse or scurrilous jester, vulgar, evil, using or given to coarse language.

 

Sprite - a spirit, a mythical, fairy-like creature who lives by the water. Sprites are supernatural and sometimes tricksy.

 

Delphine & Siptius

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Come hither, sit ye down, and I will spin ye a yarn, far far better than that of any decrepit weaver…”

 

~And, may it take the form of a ditty, should you wish it so~

 

And the Old Oak groaned at the woosh of the whisper's echo…

 

There once was a sprite that lived all her life, in a forest so verdant green

But she’d loved and she’d lost and her soul did wail

An ambivalent theme, Delphine, Delphine

An ambivalent theme, Delphine…

 

By water so blue, your melancholic hue

Would carry on the breeze, Delphine…

To the toot they would moot what to do about you,

Maybe marry on the morrow, Delphine, Delphine

Maybe marry on the morrow, Delphine..?

 

“But she be a woebegone wanderer…”

“Yes, but with tresses so thick, like the pillars of Rome…”

“Pleat upon pleat, upon pleat. I must agree with thee, for do they not fall like the folds in the gown of an angel?”

“To be sure, that they do, Sir, to be sure that they do…And they DO!

 As if from the realms of Heaven itself...”

 

“Such beauty, o’ beauty, whose light skims a fluttering moth…”

“Must she find love, once again, Delphine?”

“Why, yes, with Tahilid! For they might soon be betroth!”

”That cannot be, for guiltless gazing in her direction be everyone's attraction, is it not?”

 

The scoggin it spawned as it sang what was heard

From the heights of an evergreen… 

He strummed on his lute, in his jester’s suit

That she be a dreamer's dream, Delphine

That she be a dreamer's dream…

 

“What did thou utter at the Feast of the Maiden, Tahilid?

To the sprite that they call Delphine?

Come hither and whisper thru rumbling thrum…

Is she not just a dreamer's dream?

Is she not just a dreamer's dream?

 

Did she sippeth the liquor?

“Oh, but a snail~cup full…”

And she became all a diddly-doo?

Pursed her lips, for a kiss or two, from you?

 

“Alas,  just a smile for me, with a quick flick of a tress o’er slimmest of shoulder…Her skin held the dew from a thousand freesias...”

Might you not have been bolder? A braver soldier? Risk for a blissful kiss?

“But surely that was almost a kiss, Siptius, was it not?

The bright shimmering smile, be that not the glimmer of a kiss?”

 

What plug-ugly, thuggery, such spite to the sprite

Like the bandit that's seeking a soul…

Forget what was sung by the callous old fool!

For you know what you know, when you know, Delphine… 

You know what you know, when you know…

 

And as the air seasoned all against her

She did curse him on that fateful night… 

Wi’ the pips n’ seeds of a forest fruit, 

Poisoned him, well, rendered him mute, on his lute…Oh what a hoot!

 

“Ha Ha! Siptius, you fool! Be ye not the busy one today?

Are ye not spitting out your gobbets of tattle-shite to anyone that has a care to listen? Pardon? What is that you speak? Nothing? Why…the fool stays silent…

Mmm, that rolls off the tongue so well! I think perhaps I might say it again…The fool stays silent…”

 

Oh! Discomfited sprite, that you might regret

Such malevolent ire!

For it be a waste on a clown such as he 

In his silken stripe, he could only swipe

With no spine to call his own

 

And thus, he would scorn no more, the wandering bore! 

Toot! toot!  Not Siptius, for he cannot possibly be an owl? ~titter~

~whisper~Just a simple mouse on the woodland’s floor!~shush!~

As quiet as a Lord & Lady…

 

“Wherein was I wrong, to station that tongue?”~satisfaction~

“Delphine, you were wrong!”~Jeez, must there always be one Karen?~

“Was I? What did I do that others would not thank me for?”~mock indignation~

“Why did it take you so long, oh sprite-ful one?~chortles~

“Hush, everyone. This is serious. We have no jester!~o-oh!~

“That is true! A cause to celebrate!”~splits one’s sides~

~And they danced a diddly-doo~

 

Then she changed in a flash at the water’s splash

To the haunting spirit of a corvid bird

A nod to the mouse that speaks no word

And a wink to the mummer, no longer heard

 

And as she flew through the air, she had not the care

Free with a sylph-like licence

Whilst the willow tree waltzed in the bloom of her breath

Sad Siptius scurried in silence…

 

~The End~

© 2024. Mrs WH