ray, can you tell me
what a whurgawoddle is?
All I can figure is that it really lives,
and that it must be some kind of fairy,
though, descriptions of it, well, they vary...
The whurgawoddle sure is quite unique,
an odd cross maybe between sage and freak,
its flesh and bone or woven by a dream,
whatever it might be, it's quite extreme!
For some it's a curious ball of fur,
for others a spirit, a kind of ghost,
an unseen, otherwordly saboteur,
pulling strings on things, thus say most,
yet there's little on which all concur.
Image description. A strange encounter
Of strange encounters we're
of ethereal pixies hailing from days of old,
of fays who only those who believe can see
and lucent, winsome hives of butterflies.
Be they bold, timid, brimming with glee,
alien beings they seem, weird, but wise.
No, no, manikins they are! Imps, gnomes,
some unflinchingly would claim,
little people that live in your home!
Or they're even children of the flame?
Fiery, smoky creatures, out to roam,
can't be captured, not to be tamed...
Ask a Southerner, he'll say: Oh sure!
I've felt lots of those, sing and dance,
lift the spirit for their souls are pure.
Rarely though you'll catch a glance,
and if you see them, it's just by chance,
for whence they come remains obscure.
Whurgawoddles are all but fleeting,
and if you feel a sudden blush
consider it their silent greeting.
All senses will wake in a rush,
and there you go, heart beating
memories, longings competing...
Gobbledygook! a Northman knows:
They're serious business, never blithe,
to stand by you in times of throes,
and never must you call them sprites!
Whirling goofily around your nose?
No, whurgawoddles are none of those!
Rather they whisper in your ear,
if you're unsure they'll make clear
what path to choose, what way to go,
gingerly floating to and fro
they sort your thoughts
till troubles come to naught.
I've also heard a whurgawoddle
does not advise, but rather twaddles.
In fact it knows you inside out!
For when it speaks without a doubt
it's just there to tease and coddle,
that's what it's all about!
Or they're beings of the night,
I've heard rather strange accounts,
phantoms, to disappear at first light,
using horsefays as their mounts!
Are they real? It appears no, not quite
through dreams and illusions they flounce...
They aren't malicious, they're nothing vile,
rather the nightmares they chase away,
they elated the sleeper and make him smile,
so that renewed he'll meet the day.
Last not least:
There are some who make the claim
that no sane person would believe
in curious creatures playing games,
nor that they're helping us achieve
hopes and dreams, all kinds of aims
unless it's our want to be deceived...
Well, so say the ones,
and something else say the others.
No agreement anywhere,
not even between brothers.
See? How could one really know
what that fabled whurgawoddle is?
Yet old and young, they all can tell
a story, a poem, a ditty as well
about that creature that there is.
But whomever you ask,
it seems an impossible task
to separate the fairy from the tale
and our endeavor's bound to fail.
So, what might the whurgawoddle be?
No doubt it stands for many things,
for a workman, a beggar, kings...
I gather though, it makes them see,
and live, survive, and even thrive.
Well, upon one thing we might agree:
Nothing else should a whurgawoddle be.