Stuffy Man

Old words these are, and my apology if they should not be woken again, or if here be no good place to wake them. But All Hallows comes, and thus - the Stuffy Man.

The Stuffy is a legend of a scare-field mannequin made of straw, that walks harvest nights seeking... well. Seeking. Hark - is that a knock you hear?



Stuffy Man


When the leaves are falling and the sharp point moon is high
Then Stuffy Man goes walking, for those tides be Harvest Tide
And if ye hear him knocking while ye snuggle in thy bed
Then pull thy blanket closer, else ye'll wind up worse than dead


The Stuffy Man be stuffy with the farmer's dried up store
His head be old sack scruffy with a mouth and eyes of chalk
The rags he wears be ragged from a year spent on the land
But the moonlight dances new-bright on the sickle in his hand


The Stuffy Man hath stuffy hands that knock upon each door
But none will sleep the pounding from those hands made all of straw
And if a woken answer with a door cast open wide
Then sickle hand will fall and rend, for this is Harvest Tide


The Stuffy hath no hunger, for it hath no need to eat
But straw is dry and thirsty cries the one that seeks no meat
The liquor for the Stuffy runs hot red in ye who wake
And it will open any that it finds, its thirst to slake


So when the leaves are falling and the sharp point moon is high
And if ye hear a knocking when the stars are in the sky
Set head beneath thy pillow, do not answer to thy door
Else next year ye'll be knocking, and thy sack head made of straw!

so happy the fool has returned to please us all with his graceful words

Lady of cheese
It's honoured I am, though beyond any merit I might ever have earned, by thy words :o.