* “A mushroom pie is mighty fine,
and beer can ease your grief
but I could do without them both–
If I have lots of leaf!”
I went riding out one day
and found myself quite muddled…
on where to go, which way to turn…
my mind it was befuddled—
So I sat down on a rock and
Then pulled out my pipe
I filled it with some fine long leaf
Rich, and strong, and ripe.
As I sat there a-smoking,
and feeling rather lost…
blowing lots of smoke rings,
a stranger did accost–
“My friend, you look quite anxious,
allow me hope to share–
there’s a tavern not a mile from here,
and I will take you there!”
The fellow was quite short and stout,
His curls a gray-brown mop.
His eyes they glowed like welcoming coals.
His feet had hair atop!
I asked his name in passing,
it only seemed polite.
He laughed and said, “It’s Toby,
C’mon, we’re losing light!”
He led me through a hazy fog,
up to a tavern’s bar
Folks all seemed to know him there
and treat him like a star.
“Eat and drink, my weary friend,”
my host he did exclaim.
“Order anything you like,
and I will have the same!”
The night was filled with jest and song
and food and drink galore…
I ate until I filled right up,
and I could drink no more.
My pipe was never let go out,
And my, that leaf was fine!
I never will forget that night
If I live to ninety-nine.
They poured me on my horse at last,
and gave the steed his head.
The next I knew, I was at home
all tucked away in bed.
Did I meet the merry wit
a-rambling on the moor?
Or was it just a fever dream?
I cannot be sure.
The way he came out of the smoke,
It causes me confusion…
I’ll never know if he was real,
Or only my delusion…
But Toby was a friend to me,
and I’ll raise a flagon high–
and toast his name contentedly
when I eat mushroom pie…
Rie Sheridan Rose 