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Forgotten Ground Regained

Two Riddles

Ian Greenwood
Originally published in Withowinde 98, p. 24, Winter, 1993.
Riddle #1 Once I wept alone, water flowed over me; silent company I kept: coot and moorhen. Later soft grass soothed me, summer fields: weapon unwilling, wand of man's magic. Now brown with age, but my brothers with me, locker's lumber, I lie unused and waiting, friend's name on my face · fetches back old memories. How once I cut gracefully, men caught their breath ...
From a manuscript in the Bodleian Library
Riddle #2 I am a strange thing · sent to amuse: My life is short, a summer's length. I am born hard and shiny, shaped and moulded by man. Helping as I can, at his hand I suffer. Helpless myself, man berate me. Form forbids me, not free to go where he wishes. Swiftly I race over the grass; my shine leaves me. Soon heavy beating, bold treatment from men, makes me soft. Strange -- I grow a beard. My fate is relentless -- no reprieve in my age -- ceaseless battering · brings about my doom. My cover splits, comically bouncing, thready entrails · thumped to the hedge; nettle receive me, no longer of use. Now, this summer night, name me, your victim, born to be beaten, but bringing you pleasure.
Copyright © Ian Greenwood, 1993. Reprinted with the permission of his family.
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