Come hear the tale of Arthor Smith,
Reft fruit of husk and sought the pith,
With fingers that were stainéd with
Ink as red as blood.
Rarest of fruits grew ‘pon the bank,
Of river dread, nameless and dank,
All uncaring, young Arthor drank
Juice as red as blood.
The seeds that fell then waxéd great.
Uncaring as came dread his fate,
Still Arthor stood and Arthor ate
Fruit as red as blood.
The roots coiled up, his neck did snap,
Arthor fall and eternal nap.
Come children, see, still runs the sap
Red with Arthor’s blood.
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