The Fable Folk, by O’Susanna

Fable Folk Image

To this land of wondrous fables

came some new folks cracking dawn;

they’d been spotted from the far hills:

one huge family, wagon-packed

— too old, and mule-drawn.

Word got out.

Every hand was to carry:

one great rock,

a heavy stick,

or thick mud filling a crock.

At the town hall they assembled,

busy with the weighty gear,

bringing hay, loosed from bales,

and torches burning clear.

The wagon pulled up to a clearing,

and the children hopped on out:

big and small ones,

short and tall ones,


— all a’shout.

Orphanage had burned down,

they had no where else to go,

so the fable folk took stock,

knelt in prayer,

heads hung low.

Bernie Bear, with his paw,

smacked twelve boulders into place,

“Build on this,” he told the rest,

“It’ll make a solid base.”

Maxie Moose, formed the next rows,

nudging boulders here and there,

while the Beaver Boys slapped mud

in cracks with tender care.

Possums brought their hanging branches,

arranging them to pitch a roof

and the larks wove in and out

sturdy vines to weatherproof.

Chipmunks scampered in with kindling

got that fire roaring hot

and in no time,

the old cauldron

held a stew to fill the lot.

Company fabled and company fed,

this is where their hearts were led.

Takes as much to hurt as heal

— all that matters is what’s real.

The woods are lovely places

often deeper than they’re dark.

Daisy Dove flew in the answer

to the question we forgot.