Winkle On The Pin Poem by Raymond Crump

Beyond the bullrush screen
unheard melodious strain
brushed softly in the breeze
plays upon the efter
at play in the pond. Baby
newts wriggle free and flick
away. Presently he turns
to the beech shade, to follow
the curtsey flight of a tree creeper
from trunk to trunk, enchanted
by that pretty bird. Fabled
leviathan of the water hole, old
crested newt, denizen of the dark end,
makes complaint to Great Pan of the riot
made on his nursery.
Yaffle hem stitches the sky
to the top of the broad green summer field
and cloud cables tow the boy home to tea.

Winkle on the pin, winkle on the pin,
Brown bread, brown bread,
Winkle on the pin.

When he learned from his boy
that wild strawberries grew there
along the railway bank
A Grand Family Expedition
was mounted in the sun's eye.
Two hours to pick, two minutes to feast on.
Sweet goblin fruits in a bowl of cream
and no heat fazed forager bitten by a viper.

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Notes: 'efter' English dialect for a boy who catches newts

'yaffle' dialect name for a green woodpecker

'winkles' small snail-like crustacea boiled and eaten with
brown bread and butter