The Fiddler’s Dream

A Poem

Illustration created by Midjourney

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The Fiddler’s Dream

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He rode in his dream on a broom like a witch. 
But the tip of the stick was a bloody horse head
that snuffled and nickered and stank like a fitch.
But the man played his fiddle and charmed all the dead.

And now he heard hoofs, but the hoofs were his own.
And a wicker skirt belted him round at the waist.
And he ran through the night towards the lights of a town.
And the fiddlin’ got fiercer the more he made haste.

The head of the horse had now burst into flames.
But still the man fiddled like Nero in Rome.
And he laughed with the laughter of lads at their games,
’Cause he knew he’d wake up and be safe in his home.

But now he was riding upon a black mare,
That plunged through the wicket into that grim town,
Where on a white palfrey a white lady fair
Sat stately and calm with her hands on her gown. 

“O fiddler, O fiddler, you’ll fiddle for me
From now till the time when the world is no more.
For the lady before you you think that you see
Is a fairy more fell than Old Babylon’s whore.”

He heard a harsh jangle and glanced at her feet,
and saw rusty bells round each taloned toe.
She wriggled twelve fingers (so slender and neat);
And the rings on each finger were now all aglow.

He rode close behind her beneath the moon’s glare,
And sawed on his fiddle and sighed for his loss.  
He’d ridden a cock-horse to doom and despair.
For the town they were leaving was Banbury Cross.

Illustration created by Midjourney

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Inspired by the English nursery rhyme “Ride a Cock Horse to Banbury Cross”.

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