By the banks of the Costa that rolls to the sea,
Through Moorland that’s purpled with ling.
The robes of a man lie on bedrocks of scree,
A fool who was born to be King.
His claim to the throne on his finger he wore,
When dragged deep below to his death.
Currents snatched trinkets then threw him ashore
Where a maiden did give him sweet breath.

Oh King of the Gateway – Sire of the Moor
Harken to my father’s plea.
I ne’er stole your birthright
that day on the shore
Ne’er took a gold ring from thee.

But fool was this man who was born to be King
And locked the poor maiden away.
Then ordered a banquet, great voices to sing
With dancers and minstrels to play.

Then all fell in silence and wonder and awe
When a fish called a Pike,
was served to the King.
What joy when an object rolled to the floor
Then circled and glistened
to fall with a ‘ping’.

Oh King of Gateway that leads to the moor,
Have pity on my lovely daughter,
The emblem of Kingship you claim to yours
You wore when you entered the water.

Oh King of the Gateway, Sire of the moor,
Harken to my father’s plea,
I ne’er stole they birthright
that day on the shore,
Ne’er took thy gold ring from thee.

Oh lovely young maiden how foolish I’ve been,
to doubt one so honest and true.
Wilt thou forgive me and now be my Queen
Though my ring I’ll not give to you.
And let it be known, henceforth a new name.
A forging of Pike and of Ring
We’ll build a new town
bringing fortune and fame.
A town we will call Pickering.

Oh King of the Gateway – Sire of the Moor,
No longer the fool will they sing,
But wisdom, compassion, praises galore
A man who was born to be King.

(c) 2024 Pat Barnett