The Bude Stranger

A dethroned, strange lad has claimed Bude as his home.

She named herself the rightful queen,
And claimed the crooked throne,
She wore a fell and wicked smile,
With words as hard as stone.

Her poison blew the breeze away,
And pathways cloaked in piskie dust.
Children turned their hearts to ice,
And friends betrayed his trust.

He walked the cliffs of Arthur's realm,
With fear he dared not show,
He bore the weight of ancient hate,
To fight an unseen foe.

He wandered where the sirens sang,
Along the granite shore,
They sang away his silent rage,
And stilled the inner war.

The miners took him deep below,
To work the darkened vein,
They taught him to forge his soul,
To cast away the pain.

He knew the road to claim his throne,
And take back what was lost,
But stayed to help the local folk,
To warm them during the frost.

He stayed to learn the siren's songs,
And tune the miner's ore,
To mend the fractures in their clay,
Upon the Crooklets shore.

He'll never be a king again,
Nor sail across the foam,
This strange blow-in of the west,
Has claimed Bude as his home.