Chant Prip was the author of the poem, The Rat's Tail (the cause of it all).[1]
- "None had seen the like. Chorum’s Mill was a
Marvel of invention. Wheels upon wheels,
Granite and interlocking gears, axles and
Spokes and rims of iron, a machine that climbed
From that fast river three full levels and ground
The finest flour Lether had ever seen –
Some say it was the rain, the deluge that filled
The water’s course through the mill’s stony toes.
Some say it was the sheer complexity that was
The cause of it all, the conceit of a mortal man’s
Vision. Some say it was the Errant’s nudge, fickle
And wayward that voiced the sudden roar that dawn,
The explosions of stone and the shrieks of iron,
And the vast wheels breaking free and bursting
Through the thick walls, and the washing women
Downstream the foam at their thighs looked up
To see their granite doom rolling down –
Not a wrinkle left, not a stain survived, and old
Misker, perched on Ribble the Mule, well the mule
Knew its place as it bolted and leapt head-first
Down the well, but poor old Misker hugged the
Draw pail on its rope and so swung clear, to
Skin his knees on the round’s cobbles and swear
Loud, the boisterous breath preceding the fateful
Descent of toothy death the gear wheel, tall as any
Man but far taller than Misker (even perched on
His mule) and that would not be hard once it was
Done with him, why the rat – oh, did I forget to
Mention the rat?" - ―Excerpt from The Rat’s Tail (the cause of it all)
Chant Prip