Lay Grouter, Finger First

On thirstday, at midnight, he came to the gate

Where it's said a young man might come free

But the guard on the gate could not let him in

For the guard on the gate was a tree

Since Grouter was young and not come of age

And in turn had grown up in a cave

The best he had seen in his time underground

Was a tree turned quite well on a lathe

So unsure of whom stood mostly barring his way

And impressed right away by its weight

He asked of the tree, if he might not come in

Or if not perhaps lurk by the gate?

The tree right rudely ignored his request

Instead thinking thoughts slow and slurred

So Grouter was forced to climb his way up

Where he thought he might therefore be heard

Through a knot, by a branch, he asked once again

If a young man, without means, might come in

To the town on the hill where wonders were kept

Such as women, and needles, and gin

The women, he'd heard, were willing and ripe

The needles as sharp as old wit

And the gin kept in bottles that never ran dry

Brewed from beetroot, and muscles, and grit

To the tree then Grouter explained further his need

For drink not reformed from a paste

For needles to stitch up his two ailing boots

And for a girl without teets to her waist

The tree seemed to answer, but with never a word

That the young man should enter right now

The young man replied with a nod of his head

And the tree answered back with a bough.