The kindly, clumsy giant
High on Carn Galva, windy and grand,
Lived a friendly old Giant with feet made of land.
His toes were like boulders, his boots were like hills,
He whistled with clouds and sneezed daffodils.
He wasn’t a mean giant—no stomping, no roar!
He baked pebble-pies and he hummed as he snored.
And down by the tor, in a cottage so neat,
Lived his best little friend with quick dancing feet.
Now down past the moorland, where sea breezes play, eas Morvah, where people and cattle held sway.
With cows that went moo and calves that went mrrr, and farmers who waved from afar with a whirr.
But not all the giants were gentle or kind—
Some stomped without looking and bumbled stone-blind.
They’d thunder and blunder too close to the pens, and frighten the cows and the calves now and then.
So the Giant of Galva stood tall as a wall,
With one mighty foot and a VERY firm call:
“NO stomping near Morvah! No tramping this way! These people and cows like their fields how they stay!”
He’d block with his legs and he’d point with his chin, he’d shoo other giants with grumble and grin.
He’d guide them away to the cliffs and the sand— “For crashing,” he’d say, “use that side of land!”
The people of Morvah would smile and would cheer, their cattle stayed calm when the Giant was near.
They left him small thank-yous—some bread and some jam, (which he ate in one bite and said, “Tasty! Yes, ma’am!”)
One morning the Giant came striding along,
Humming a hum and singing a song.
He waved with his arm—oh, a terrible thing!
For his elbow went BONK! with a wobble and DING!
Not a CRASH and not SPLAT and not anything bad— Just a bump on the head that made things feel quite sad.
OOF!” said the friend, with a rub and a frown,
“My head feels all spinny! The world’s upside down!”
Oh NO!” cried the Giant, his face turning pale,
His knees went all wiggly, his stomach went whale.
“I’m terribly sorry! I wasn’t aware! My elbows are clumsy! They swing through the air!”
He scooped up his friend (oh, gentle! So slow!),
And sat him right down where the soft mosses grow.
He fetched him some water in a thimble-sized cup,
Which and shaded his head with a cloud he’d rolled up.
“I guard cows and cottages, people and sheep—
The last thing I want is a friend with an ‘eep!’
I promise I’ll watch where my elbows all go—
I’ll wave with my fingers, much smaller, you know.”
The friend gave a sniffle, then started to grin,
“Well… accidents happen. Let’s call this a win.”
So they sat on Carn Galva till shadows grew tall,
With sorrys made right and no harm done at all.