Song of the Troubled One

What the thrush toils at The partridge asks for The hapless one takes The troubled one steals Puts upon a spade Sets on a runner Hides under a door Shields with a bath-whisk The farmer hammers And tempers his spears Marries off his sons Hands out his daughters In boots clogged with clay In fancy mittens The sea-swell rumbles And the wind it blows And the king hears it From five miles away From six directions From seven backwoods From eight heaths away.