The Drumlins

Around a table sat three men

The likes of whom, you’ll not see again

Red of hair and blue of face

You have never seen a stranger race

From their mouths so large and round

Flows a most peculiar sound

Nothing like the way we speak

More a noisy high pitched squeak

They wear red coats and have dark eyes

I ask myself 

‘Who are these guys?’

‘Where are they from? What do they do?’

‘Are they a threat to me and you?’

Should I ask them who they are? 

Or would this be a step too far?

They gesture gently invite me in

Giggling loudly 

‘Oh what a din’

They wave their spoons up in the air

Shake their heads and ruffle their hair

But, I think, I will just slip away,

Perhaps visit them another day…

The Drumlins

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