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Tablets of Stone (part 2) : The Vision
By Ken Edgar
Moses gave all his attention,
As Gilly drew lines in the sand,
“Go here and go there, but always take care,
To arrive not too soon in t’new land.”

“Just walk round in circles a bit like,
‘Till you see on your left a great height,
Now just take your time, you’ll ‘ave a mountain to climb,
I think forty years abart right”

“Forty years walking round, that’a a life time,”
Cried Moses with heart felt lament,
“That’s daft, we can build, we have specialist craft,
Loads of sand we just need some cement.

Debating and shouting and ranting and panting,
The two seemed to work out a plan,
Gilly showed snap shots of seaviews and veg plots,
A Tesco’s with shelves full of spam.

He pictured a land full of marmite,
Of trifle, pink custard and wine,
Baked beans, marmalade, Yorkshire puddin’ home-made,
Mashed ‘taties and gravy; ‘A sign!’

So at last there was a conclusion,
Although Moses turned down shelves of spam,
And asked instead for a large feather bed,
And summat to make sarnies from lamb.

So this and a bit more was decided,
And who could blame the old chap,
A place with a sea-view, date palms and a flush loo,
Some socks and a new Sunday hat.

As they worked together a speech formed,
With paper and ink running out,
The last page they wrote was on Moses' coat,
But finally gone was the doubt.

And Moses was now quite determined,
He needed some time for to think,
No more stick from the Fareo, to live like a scarecrow,
But where would he find some more ink?

Both Gilly and Moses were shattered,
Then a shout from the band loud and clear,
Joined by trumpet and string, and things that go ping,
And “Eh, Gilly, it’s your turn for t’beer.

So the visionary band re-assembled,
And floating off (we think) down the beck,
Ducking heads wringing hands as most of the band,
Missed the bridge but not Gilly’s neck.

His pride and his harp hit the water,
As the band carried on round the bend,
Harpless and soaked, he coughed and he choked,
‘Where’s mi Harp, it were only on lend?’

To this day the very position,
Of said Harp is a real mystery,
Some say it’s in t’beck, some say, “Is it heck,
But in’t’Mill dam 'neath over’ang tree.”

‘An ‘appen that’s why folk in Cowling,
To the mocking of those not so sharp,
Brave the wet and the cold, in search of the gold,
By moonlight for Gilly’s lost harp.

To the sound of the instruments’ gurgle,
Moses once more tried to sleep,
But the picture he saw, was an army real sore,
And a Fareo who’s anger was steep.

He set his alarm for five-thirty,
And once more attempted to sleep,
He tried counting goats, cows, camels and boats,
And wished now he’d bought extra sheep.

So right after breakfast Old Moses,
Set to and tidied his tent,
He washed up the dishes, and vacc’d for his missus,
And set off with head slightly bent.

He’d gather his people around him,
To explained as how last night he’d seen,
A vision from Gilly, an’ tho’ it sounds silly,
It’s better than what there had been.
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