The Key

‘Twas in the land of Eden’s Eye
When I came across a key.
It was rusty and half-buried
In the sand by Idle’s Sea.

The hair upon my neck was taut;
My face began to twitch.
‘Fore I knew I had discovered,
A great treasure to enrich.

The key I stuffed inside my pouch,
And skipped back towards the town.
To find the hole in where it goes
A diligent search began.

In many a door the key I tried,
But none was a good fit.
So, for years I carried ‘round the key
With dismay upon my wit.

Arriving in the Town of Nod
I sought a place of rest.
‘Twas the Drover’s Inn establishment
Where I came upon the chest.


The chest was made of Wych Elm wood,
Gird round about with iron.
The lock was made of tarnished brass
Long blackened by a fire.

I asked the keeper “What might it be?”
He had no tale to tell me.
Only that the chest was left behind
By a red-headed Irish pygmy.

I set my bag upon the bed
And sat down in a chair,
Wondering if the key I had
Would reveal the contents there.

Reaching in my pouch I found
The key from long ago.
My hand began to quiver
As my greed began to grow.

I slipped the key inside the lock.
It fit, to my delight!
Turning the key I heard a click.
I knew the time was right.

I set the lock down on the floor
Anticipating wealth.
The lid creaked loudly as it rose
Unnerving my good health.

Would I find a crown of gems,
Or Spanish coins of gold?
Would inside be rings and lace
Or diamonds all aglow?


Puzzlement furrowed in my brow
As I peered down deep inside.
I was astonished to discover
A quite little porcupine.


“At last!” she squeaked and gave a sigh.
“I was not sure o’ my fate!
Fore, you see the pygmy, Myron,
Cast a spell upon my pate!”

“I was once a lovely lassie
In the Shire of Twinkle’s Twine.
With many a young lad to say
“Won’t you please be mine?”


“But, my spirit was so wild and free;
I wandered beyond our bounds.
And, one day came up on my fate
Never to be found.”

“The evil pygmy, Myron,
Chased and trapped me in a glade,
Tried to steal away my kisses,
So I harshly did upbraid.”

“When I swore that I would n’er be his
He let out such a cry.
‘Twas in the moment of his ire
He turned me to a ‘pine.”


“E’en in the state of prickly paws
Myron tried to take a kiss.
So, I poked him with my newfound quill
And, let go, he did, a hiss.”

“That rotten pigmy, Myron,
He put me in this chest,
Saying, “If you won’t be mine, dear Pine,
Say ‘bye' to all the rest!”

“I’ve lived on hope and prayers, you see,
Waiting for one as dire,
Who would free me from my bondage
And return me to my shire.”


“Fore I never want to stray again.
I took it all for granted -
My home, my family, I do miss!
Evermore I’ll grow where planted.”

Recovered from the shock I was
To find no gold or glitter.
Instead my greed had been replaced
By my new found interest in her.

“Li’l Porcupine”, said I with glee,
“Am glad ‘twas me that found ya!
I’ll take ya to your home, my friend
To turn your life around now.”

My heart was full as we left the inn
On our journey to the shire.
Fore, a treasure I did find at last
A friend I could admire.

--Grayson Nelson 4/24/2010

Make a New Friend, Y'all!