Hints of dawn bloom into day,
Melting hoarfrost all away,
As the roosters greet the sun,
Crowing, waking everyone.

Weary Callum stays in bed,
Soothes the bruises on his head,
Feels the grazes on his arm
Lessened by his mother's balm.
          Oh, he longs for bygone days —
          Cheerful parents, playful ways,
          When his pa would lift him up,
          Catching starflies in a cup,
          Watching wildlife go by,
          Fur and feathers, earth and sky...

          "Time for breakfast, Callum, dear!"
          That's his mother that you hear.

To the table Callum goes,
Hoping that his hurt won't show
As he sits to sip his brew,
Dipping toast in humble stew.
          Though his pa has passed away,
          Struck by unknown illness grey,
          There's a warm bowl in his place.

          Tap-a-tap-a-tap-a-tap!
          Hear that knocking on the door —
          "Who is that, now? And what for?"
Callum's mother rests her plate,
Rises to investigate.

          It's the nosy neighbour's-wife,
Here to shock and scandalise,
Spreading gossip all the day,
Spicy news that comes her way:
"Imogen! You won't believe
What Fyona said to me.
She suspects that there's a hex!
Some old witch was extra vexed,
Curst the Hunter's rowdy sons —
Yes, all three unruly ones..."
                                                                                Callum cracks a cheeky smile,
                                                                                Listens closer for a while.
"...They woke up completely bald!
That is all that she was told..."

Callum's mother, sweet and true,
Feels much pity with the news:
"My, oh, dear! Oh, deary me!
Why, the Hunter's wife — poor she!
Everybody knows her sons
Can be scruffy ruffians,
But to see them lose their hair?
That gives any mum a scare..."

          There's no need to listen still —
Cal has had his morning's fill,
Satisfied with justice done.
Both teams even: One and One.