Songs or poems to help people learn, or to transmit myths and legends.

The Boy
by Owen ap Owen

Boy and Uncle marching proud,
Calling critters names aloud,
Travelling o'er ground unploughed
Through early morning's misty shroud.
Another trip, already vowed!

Look there! Quickly! See?
See the squirrel climb the tree?
He hides his nuts from you and me.

A Cabbage White, that butterfly,
Dipping low, then flapping high.
He checks for food, that he might spy.

Watch the rabbit in his  hole,
Skirting round the tree trunk's bole,
Looking deep within your soul?

Feathered grouse, hid underfoot
Wingtip feathers black like soot.
Eggs in nest, so nicely put.

Foxgloves standing in the dells
With flowery spikes of purple bells
Deadly poison, and death foretells.

Staghorn beetle's spiky nose,
Grubbing round the dead thorn rose.
Then taking up a fighting pose.

Vixen in her covered den!
Blood and feathers from a hen,
'Twas taken from the farmer’s pen.

Rufus Robin on the twig,
Jumping down to earth to dig.
He's finding worms, both fat and big.

Watch the eagle way up there
Smaller creatures all beware,
And head home swiftly, for your lair.

Boy and Uncle marching proud,
Calling critters names aloud,
Travelling o'er ground unploughed
Through early morning's misty shroud.
Another trip already vowed!

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Note: a boy's first lessons in Knowledge Nature

In the beginning …
Wen tribal lore

The sun, the moon and the barren earth
Huddled quiet, and were our birth
Sol, the hot and hungry parent
Beaming like an angry tyrant
Lune the gentle, glowing sister
Speaking softly, in a whisper
Gaya, barren rocks and water
longing for a son and daughter.

Sol, inflamed by mother Gaya
fast became a strange messiah
Scorching land and boiling sea
bought cloud and wind, as you can see.
These children of the heavenly pair,
greened the land and made it fare.
Plants and fish, the wolf and ox
Scattered cross the pools and rocks.

Then we came to reap this plenty
spreading cross the land, half empty
Sons and daughters, Gaya’s offspring
hunting game with spear and sling.
Finding shelter under trees,
Shivering when the cold winds freeze.
Seeing that our plight was dire,
Sol, the life-giver, gave us fire.

Gaya’s gifts are multiple
And help us keep our stomachs full
First a dream of wolfpack chase
made tribal hunting commonplace.
She followed that with spiders’ web
gave nets across the river’s ebb.
The final dream of squirrel wits
led to building storage pits.

Lune looked down all through the night
Saw lonely people, and sad campsite.
With dreams of peckers midnight thrum
A hollow log became a drum.
Rotted fruit and drunken deer
showed the way to berry-beer.
Soon the evening passed quite merry
Thanks to drum and happy berry.

Give you thanks to all three lords,
Mentor of us human hordes.
Treat their gifts with great respect,
Lest their world-gift should be wrecked.
Take your needs and leave the rest,
let our world be loved and blessed.
Mother Gaya, Sol and Lune
We thank you for your gracious boon.

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The Wen are a bespoke tribal people, who live in the warm mountains and are followers of The Green.