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after work.
    If Big Bumperton
    (For that was his name)
    Seemed a happy man
    Then it only seemed
    For he was alone since his mother died.
    & in love, it’s true,
    He had little luck
    For the girls he loved
    Never did love him
    & saw him as an object of pity.
    Still he carried on
    Hoping that the girl
    Of his fevered dreams
    Might one day appear
    & love him & kiss him with her cherry-red lips.
    But until that time
    He would persevere,
    For he had a shop
    & his mongrel dog
    To keep him company on winter nights.
    Sitting by the fire
    In his night attire
    Bumperton was sure
    That the Lord was there
    Somewhere, glowing in the embers.
    Gloomy solitude
    With a mongrel dog
    Sleeping on his lap,
    So he spent his nights
    & by day he was a locksmith.
    & he had knowledge
    Of every kind of lock,
    Deadlock & padlock
    & mortice & bolt,
    But he lacked the key to a woman’s heart.
    Now our time is up.
    Put another coin
    In the poet’s cap
    & he’ll tell you all
    About Big Bumperton on the Sabbath.
II
    On that Sabbath day
    Bumperton was out
    On his bicycle
    Riding through the town
    Doffing his hat to all the lovely ladie s
    & he wobbled past
    A poster on the wall
    Of high-kicking chorus girls
    With cherry-red lips
    & endless layers of petticoats.
    & he cycled on
    Past a frozen lake
    & a one-armed man
    With a twisted mouth
    Hurling pumpernickel across the sullen ice
    (Which the geese ignored,
    Having all flown south)
    & a gaggle of girls
    Skating on thin ice.
    ‘What if one fell through?’ he thought. ‘Would I help?’
    & he cycled on
    Up a winding path
    & the path was steep
    But he peddled fast
    & arrived at the snowy summit of a hill
    Where he could look down
    On the little town
    & the chimney smoke
    Curling to the sky
    & Big Bumperton saw that it was good.
    So he cycled on
    Past the ruined house
    Where an ancient crone
    Cursed her final days
    Before she was cast down the witches’ tower.
    Pausing by a sign
    For another town
    He took out his watch
    & wrote down the time
    In a pocket book, for he always liked to know
    When he reached this point
    In his weekly ride
    On that holy day
    When our Lord rested,
    Before cycling home again for lunch.
    & he pedalled on
    Coming to a place
    Where he hit a root
    Hidden in the snow
    & went flying over the handlebars.
III
    Opening his eyes
    After travelling
    Far into his mind
    For what seemed like days
    (But was only a matter of minutes)
    There in front of him,
    Leaning over him,
    In a milk-white dress
    & with golden plaits
    Was a girl with cherry-red lips.
    ‘Fair queen of my heart,’
    Sighed Big Bumperton.
    ‘What was that?’ she said.
    ‘Please don’t try to move,
    You might have broken something in the fall.’
    & with expert hands
    She inspected him
    For suspected breaks
    In his arms & legs,
    But Big Bumperton bore his pain within.
    Then she sat him up
    Lying in her lap
    & she stroked his brow
    & he bit his lip,
    Fearing she might disappear if he spoke.
    Gretchen was her name
    & within a year
    She became his wife
    & he sold his dog
    To the one-armed man, never shedding a tear.
    Gretchen swept the house
    & she filled the pot
    With good things to eat
    & he swelled with pride
    That she had consented to be his bride.
IV
    On the Sabbath day
    Bumperton was out
    On his bicycle
    & he cycled deep
    Into a forest where the birds around him sang cheep-cheep.
    & anon a bird
    Flew out of a tree
    Making merry noise
    Joyful melody
    & each pleasant note became a word:
    Sometime were we blessed,
    Angels heavenly,
    But our Master fell
    For his wicked pride
    & we fell with him for our offence.
    But our trespass small,
    God was merciful
    & out of all pain
    Set us here to sing
    & to serve Him again, after His pleasing.
    Down upon his knees
    Fell Big Bumperton
    & the bird said this
    To him in that place,
    Even as Big Bumperton trembled there:
    Now have twelve months passed
    That you have been wed,
    But you still have not
    Taken your delight
    In the marriage bed, though it be your right.
    In the second year
    You