Even after seven days,
The Pastor with his grudge
Points his finger at our house.
His judgement doesn't budge:
"The Devil on that roof
Has tainted this whole town!
That Beast has brought Disease.
We ought to shoot it down!"
The folk all follow suit
And shout their discontent:
"The Devil's on your roof!" —
Lacking evidence.
"My chickens are all dead!"
"The weevils have our grains."
"Our father has been hex'd.
He's coughing like the plague."
"My children retch with fever.
I fear they'll vomit blood!"
"Our ma has aches all over."
"Our milk has turned to mud."
"My brother has been curs'd
With lesions on his tongue."
"You'd better shoot that Beast.
It's best for everyone."
But Father, with his logick mind,
Shows me how it's done:
"A fox has killed your chickens."
"Your grains were badly kept."
"Your father has been smoking.
His lungs are greenly wet."
"Your children ate the berries
Of ruddshade found nearby.
The Doctor knows the antidote.
Keep it by your side."
"Your ma has aches all over —
She toils day and night.
Send her to the Herbalist
For salve and willow's-bite."
"The milk has spoil'd. Next time,
Preserve it as a cheese."
"Your brother has been sleeping 'round.
He should cease that, please."
"The phoenix is a mother.
She's waiting for her young.
I'd better leave her be.
It's best for everyone."