An Argyle Sock

Post - I just read William Allingham’s ‘the Faeries,’ and was quickly inspired to give the world something derivative.

An Argyle Sock

Twas in the gloam of a night as such.
  Our bonnie Bridie stept oot fer a swim,
She dressed down into those same humble clothes
  God saw her born with, and stepped in

Was not by a hand of Man nor God’s
  That cruelly dragged and pulled her down,
It may not e’en be known by she
  What reason there was by which she drown,

She drifted ghostly in the lake,
  Then late she nested in the silt,
What tears she shed the lake washed away,
  For her death were no Man’s guilt

Was then the silver faeries came,
  They alone knew of her fate,
By a moonlight silver they flashed about,
   For to aide her sure revival, they would wait,

At morn when golden sun arose
  Wee faeries returned to fish,
Tho’ t’see her rise and live again
   Was their one soul honest wish,

And so for 13 years they kept the vigil
   Yet as they’re fishies who no canna’ breathe,
None of' schools' still nae yet t’ ken
   As to why it is she canna’ leave