Yotrrundork Snythconfounded

“All the ground was wet and cold,

And those that traveled were young and old.

Of all who came, there was one so bold...

One so bold,

There was one so bold as to stand against

The town’s young ruler, their young prince.

“By name, the man of this such boldness

Was unknown to those around.

Of all who were in the town

Those who knew his name--spoke it with coldness.

“None save one could say it rightly

And that such a young was Sordid Sprightly.

If asked, he’d tell you quick as it sounded,

‘His name is Yotrrundork Snythconfounded!’

“ This man was the friend and comrade of he

Who stood against the prince’s fee

And laughed at all that he’d decree,

So bold was the man called Yotrrundork.

“The Prince would not stop till he had his head

And could stand at his funeral, pronounce him dead;

That never again should rise such a head

As the sordid one of Yotrrundork.

“What had been the decree you may ask?

A decree that all should attend the mass!

‘Good show,’ the noble Yotrrundork said,

‘If you wish to lose your head.’

“He slandered the king

To say such a thing

And the prince had decided to will him.

He set out one day

In his hell-bound way

And wouldn’t let off till he’d killed him.

“Of all his good deeds

He’d done in the reeds

And towns of the king’s good nation,

Yotrrundork was to die

At the end of the cry

That the crier should shout proclamation.

“But Yotrrundork was bold

And of course he would hold

To what he had said at in the village,

And took a bold stand

Against the king’s man

This prince who should come out to pillage.

“He watched the young man

With drawn sword in hand

Come riding right to his house in Swatch,

And drive his long spear

Dangerously near

To the bolt on the frame of the door latch.

“To say that Yotrrundork stood fearfully

Would be false, if put to the test,

For that noble man, stout of heart

Arose on the foamy crest of fate

Crashed to the surface in a state

Of great victory.

“He smote that slight prince on the forehead,

He threw him back out the door,

And if ever that prince was be seen again,

You’d see he was bold no more.

“He returned to the king in a sorry state,

His health was not as it should be,

For as soon as he’d come

To the threshold of home

He belched his fate in solvency.

“And as Yotrrundork finished his deed,

He hummed a low tune on the eves of the wind,

And he dragged his thick ax and called to his dog

And left the house he had lived in.

“And Yotrrundork was taken in a whirl wind,

Though some may swear twas Esias;

And he never was to be seen any more

That day he had threatened the Highness.

“Though his deeds live on in the hearts of those

Who lived in his woods near,

There never was a nobler one

Than the one you just did hear.”

And when Grandpa had ended his story,

And closed the book he had read,

He placed it back on the casement,

And tucked the children in bed.

And all that night a storm raged on

And whistled through the rafters,

And if one listened closely, they’d hear--

The low end clatter of jingling music,

The notes of an old Welsh tune,

And it seemed as though a tall shadow

Was dragging a long, thick ax,

And a young hound was seen to follow

In his old master’s tracks.

And out on the street, wet and cold,

Of those who did travel, young and old.

There was never a man so bold,

As the legend Yotrrundork of old.