Form: Cywydd deuair hirion

By the fireside, there sits he
A friendly soul come by thee
There he sits darning a sock
Or fixing up an old clock
A useful sprite in the house
And quiet as a wee mouse
For a bowl of cream each night
He’ll work hard and with delight
With no complaints, not a sound
‘til the vicar comes around
Then he will spit and he’ll shout
He’ll sulk and his lips then pout
Our sprite is not so impressed
The priest must go it’s no jest
As he looks from thee to me
No more vicars come for tea

© JG Farmer 2020

2 thoughts on “Bwbach

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