The Ballad of Barntham Braves

Barntham Braves, the man who dug graves, was never one to take visitors.
With body big and hairy, and a face often called scary, he was loathed all over town.
The children would laugh, as they passed on the path, so only at night did he go about.
When one day bearing cane, came a girl in the rain, her cloaks all soaked through and sodden.
Barntham was kind, but afraid in his mind, and didn't know how to approach her.
With eyes brighter than whistles, he peered through the thistles, his door left open to her.
Cautious but grateful, she rested where plate-full, and warm fire crackled behind.
The storm grew too strong, and though Barntham thought wrong, he went to the door to peer in.
The girl was asleep, too tired to keep, and so her watch fell by the wayside.
He waited at the door, dripping away from his floor, but eventually went in to rest.
Giving her space, he curled up after a pace, his nerves nearly keeping him up.
The next thing he knew, the sun was shining through, and the smell of hot coffee stirred him.
His eyes opened to see, the girl gay, fine and free, her smile lighting up the room.
With a sneeze did he start, shocking her from hot beverage art, and he flashed her eyes full of worry.
She laughed and with cheer, did sit by him, near, and handed him a warm cup.
Barntham was often without, such comfort thereabouts, and so he was shocked and chagrined.
She patted his arm, thanking for preventing harm, and keeping his place so comfy.
A sip he did wish, and encouraged to fish, he tried the warm brew.
Pure sugar throughout, and not a bitter taste out, her skills and supplies were unmatched.
The girl had been tracking, fertile ground, she was lacking, and wandered her way to here.
He held still his heart, for he knew of a part, old graves where the land was rich.
A match made in weather, for him and for Heather, brought both of them joy, forever.