Alasdair Roberts Poem by Pierre Rausch

Except that they must be very large
And bade the wayfarer to sit down
And all dotted with freckles
She wore a cloak

This fore-carriage composes of a massive iron axle-tree
With a pivot, into which was fitted a heavy shaft
The whole thing compact, overwhelming
It seems like the carriage of an enormous cannon

Why was that fore-carriage of a truck in that place in the street?
Wouldn't have dropped him
And off they went at last
Suspicous folk to meet

It looks as if my caught was coming true
If he looked to risk a light
They hated and hated worse

For diamonds in the sunlight
Any reason for the better man
Nothing but her fresk
Of divine

She resumed humming
What could it mean
A more southerly source
Suddenly on her fresk