Dwell in the rustling bushes,
Between the cracks of the gorge,
Where they feast upon creatures,
That lurk in the mud banks,
Left behind from the tide rolling out.
Of all the Clifton trolls,
The most famous in legend,
Is the troll known only as Rolly.
His parents had seen and watched,
For many years,
How the humans above them cared,
Loved and cherished their children.
They showered them with gifts,
And raised them well,
And the trolls grew to believe,
That human parents were blessed.
When Rolly was a newborn,
His parents stole away into a home,
Near the Gorge,
And swapped their baby with a human child.
They took the child away,
Promising to raise it as best they could,
But ultimately hoping,
That their new baby would be raised better,
Under the love of humans.
The human parents,
Had been placed under a spell,
And could only see their lovely child,
And not the unique looking,
Oddly shaped troll baby they were cradling.
Years went by,
And despite strange whispers,
Random mumbles and stares,
The two humans raised their child,
In the best way they could.
It was only when he was four years old,
That they began to suspect,
When at a social gathering,
Two older human children had begun,
In a nasty way,
To torment their darling Rolly,
For his big bulging eyes,
Cracked lips and oddly shaped hands.
The little troll raised his finger,
Pointing towards them,
And muttered under his breath,
Words that sounded much like gibberish,
Commonly babbled by the young,
But it was not,
It was a curse,
And instantly a bookshelf fell on top,
Pinning the two older children,
And trapping them under the weight of literary works.
Rushing him away from the gathering crowd,
His parents hurried him to a nearby witch,
Famous for her potions and mediumship.
She examined the boy,
She examined the parents,
In her grubby bathtub,
Brewed them a potion to drink.
It stank of rotten fish,
Lined with sticky sap from an Ash,
And tainted with a sprinkling of the boys hair.
And the parents learnt the truth,
That their dear Rolly was not a little human boy,
But in fact,
A troll youngling.
The witch grabbed a blade,
And made for the boy,
Trying to gut him,
But his father stood in the way,
Knocking her to the floor.
Both parents grabbed Rolly,
And once again ran away.
They made their way up towards the highest point,
Overlooking the Gorge below.
And left him,
And although it broke their hearts to do so,
They left knowing,
That he would never be safe,
Unless with his own kind.
After some time passed,
His natural curiosity led him to climb,
Climb down the rock face,
And towards the mud below,
Where he found some tasty creatures to snack on.
There he was greeted by his birth parents,
And their rather tall and slender son.
The trolls were overjoyed by Rolly’s return,
And he told them of the two that raised him,
How they protected him from those who feared,
And so thankful were they,
That once again that night,
They stole away into the humans home,
And left them a present.
When the humans awoke,
They walked into their son's room,
Perched on the edge of Rolly’s bed,
A little human boy,
Four years old.
Rolly grew up amongst his own kind,
But never forgot the kindness and love,
That had been bestowed upon him.
It is said that every year,
Around the time of Yule,
He would appear at his human parent’s window,
Where he would watch them unwrap presents,
Eat their dinner,
Play with their returned human son,
And he would shed a tear,
As he remember the time he shared with them,
As a changeling boy.