[A sorrowful drone of ancient pipes cuts the gloomy air...]

Hush na', yon Craigalatche, and hear me spake ov tha tru spirit o' tha drivelous...

T'was a worrieful, scurrieful dwarf, he, but noone trulie look'd down on
haim. Hais bowed demeanor an' job as a cleaner e'er hid a jibe an' a grin.

He was quick wi' tha' wit; an' tha'  ne'er wud stick... cause
we all ken'd thaat he was a master.

But tha' dayies ov tha' 's, an' tha meltin' Chili
spoons are sadlie now sent out tu pasture.

When ye speak of tha' greats, throw a curse tu tha' fates; for rarelie was
e'er seen his kin'.

An' I say tu ye lads, it canna be moore sad, that we'll ne'er see his likeness again.


For: Dwarf Bennie Hutto; 1959-2002
     Rest in peace, and drivel with the gods.

--- GoldED/386 3.0.1-dam3