The Bobin
I introduce you to the Bobin of the five valleys
the bobins were rare but occasionally spottedaround the five valleys in gardens well pottedsneaking about in their worn out garmentstheir history written on tarnished brown parchmentelders were versed in the ways of the old tribesliving in tunnels, quarries and old mineswisdom and isdom, stories and talestalk of their brethren in the valleys of Walescarrots were picked from the ground underneathcarotene stains on their lips and their teeththey could see in the dark it was no surprisestreetlights would often reflect from their eyesclothes sewn from woollens hand made in the pasta tribute to ancestors born into the castehats made from cats who were slow off the markshoes honed from twine fixed to pieces of barkthe commons were where they liked to be socialwarming on charcoal and soup made from toadstoolstipples were crafted from berries and sloesit didn't take long they'd be up on their toeswomenfolk gathered whilst menfolk went huntingwild nuts and fruits mixed with flesh from a buntingrodents and field mice, sometimes a rabbitfresh herbs and garlic bulbs, nettles and nabitwashing themselves in the frome or slad brookskinning their dinner by hook or by crookrafters and joists from disused shaftsbeds made from dried bay and straw on a hearththe bobins were simple, their lives not erraticworking the land to extract all its magicwatching a world go by unseen by mostwhere everything naturally comes to a close