Poor as swallows as we are but larksome
As is my name Leveller Deidre - poor as swallows we are but larksome so – though overruled by the Moggus tribe – despots – in the year of our Mogg 20 or 2040 AD – and as one day I was gentling entrancing my seven cows homeward and Shalo the heifer leading with her hooves tucketing a rhythm as slow as all time Shalo buttled me bong on the chest and again buttled me bong and glazed at me as if I was in pain and after myself and my husband Lambert had by hand milked her and all for we have no electrics now so as we swished and pumped and pulled by hand and led all cows to rest in their barnies Lambert spoke to me -
and said 'What wooz Shalo buttling you for – she were telling you something no hap ' and thereupon we looked at my breastus and there were bruises but also lumpen stuff and we decided it could be cancro.
And therewith pitched ourselves a journey to Irlanda as they had special doctors which we Levellers hadn't got of any and so in the darksome night we boat sailed and rowed – Lambert his mighty thews working mightily for as he was my husband he was mightily nerve skewed and got through the upswelling water and crinkling rain to the shore near Doblin and slept tremulous like lambs in a scruff of wood and then tentatived in to the wild city abundant with all of which we were deprived and there were no surprising looks until a bustling and bouncy polity caught us and addressed us as illegals but when he heard of the cancro he softened to a slim willow tree as were and rustled us through the lit electris streets to a doctor Ground
who opened to us with a croking door after we knocked - with his tumbler of whisky in hand - and gave me gentle investigation with Lambert on hand - burrow-eyed - and said yes it was early cancro and gave me a bundle of pills to cure.
And Dr Ground, who was red-haired and short as a tree stump, said 'you poor illegals I will escort you to your boat and there bless you for a fair journey' and thus took us in his macchinus sliding and skidding on muddus to where our boat was languishing silent on the moon-bosomed shore and we gave the good doctor a bottlum of apple spirit for which he was grateful – he being a man of spirit - and he hugged us like a brother and sister and we then sailed the night over to reach our muddus home by larksome dawn.
And so for all I say thankyou to my heifer Shalo who my heart very precious keeps and now I would always suckle at a cow's wisdom as would Lambert for he was mazed and grateful as was all of I.
All hail the Levellers as we are branded but not so branded as we have much that is proud and sturdy and it grows yes rainful and green by nature. So named Levellers in 2019 AD or Mogg 0 by the Moggus tribe when Britain entered the era of Biscuit and so oppressed to live across the Somerset Levels in 'sweet poverty'.
We garner our riches beyond poverty sweet so and know as much or more much as those with riches know.
For secretly queenmoonly after all our craft and so about the fields, rivers, sea it is so we share our stories which are our human selves – vigorous charged – about fire or under the sun before our shildren scamper to sleep and beyond that and underneath the lightsome moon our murmurs play.
Thus we create and thus we resist.
This is one such story 'Poor as swallows we are but larksome'.