There is a gravestone of black marble and gold, now overgrown by brambles and briers so  I am  told ,
near a willow tree that lends it's branches ,
to my ear ,
to remember those , like I , who have been buried here.                                


For there is a tree with a lock and a key ,
enshrined within its bark
For that was my intended who once I saw upon my  bended knee , for it was  she who I saw , who  sat upon that tree ,
thinking only  of me
just so she could see , a reflection of me .
Yet all I could see was a lock and a key ,
embalmed in a tree ,
and a ring that was lost
inside  a faceless clock,  which one day the hours could not mend ,
for it was taken by crows , or it could have been ravens I suppose ?                                 , Who took away its hands,

to mend , in tall trees in  workshops  far away ,
where young lovers dreams are never
what they seemed
Well thats what I think the bird said.
as they carried away its numbers
and hands to mend ,


dropping them off ,
to be found in a box ,
for loved ones
to find ,
when ever they draw near ,
where the black roses and lillies ,
like soft snow flakes ,
appear.


And there is a fire place with a warm smiling face ,
that gives me a hug
with hot milk ,and a mug .
and a whistling kettle on a stove .
And if you should call
for a natter or some warm toast and butter ,
let yourself in as the key has been lost ,
in the lock of the clock ,
before there came a calling of crows ,
or it could have been ravens I suppose?



And so Weeply Deeply,  now  close your eyes and count to three,
and recite a line
and say it to me ,

go on your  toes and reach up to the skies
for a book only you can find on high .
Look for  a leaf to leave on a  page ,
that hasn't withered with age
and lose it
In a secret place ,

In the words of a rhyme ,you
can never find
or ever want to replace
In words you can never retrace .

And then one day ,
a raven or crow ,
will call at your door ,
someday
and leave outside a lock and a ring
and no one will ever know
why or what for ? .

Test

I once saw a lady at Egham station,
she looked at me without turning back ,
I didn't ask for her hand ,
nor a crumb from her basket of bread .
For her eyes were like dew drops falling ,
yet in her eyes she saw not love ,
for the smoke of the train was bellowing
Whistling romantic thoughts of love .
To far away places it drew her ,
to far away places unseen ,
to castles and their crusades they called her ,
with their lances and seronades ,
and their far away dreams.
Should chivalry and valleys and valour ,
chastise her in her lovers gas filled Ford
Model T
Far away from the final rapture,
should love then wait for me ,,?
Forever ?
Or never,
or to go here after with a lance and a shield ,
and with the sweet fragrance of flowers
from the lovely Daisy Dee.
And the men with their dubious pleasures
with their new fangled top of the range Ford model Ts .
Alas my fantasies soon faded with the smoke and the calling of the guard,
for many soon had gathered to help this delightful woman embark .
And so I was left standing
alone on the platform,
With billowing smoke reaching up to the skies ,
bereft of any last good byes .
For the steaming demon had captured her
In the blink of the devil's eye .
Her hair blew with abandon ,
her eyes had turned a smoky red .
Her bonnet was tossed to the hills ,
along with the flowers a stranger had sent .

You must leave ,
before the evenings twilight fades ,
before the nutrons and elements of the suns eternal rays, collapse and return to where they once came .
Before the housemartins perch on roof tops to tall to climb ,.
and yonder mill can't be seen or won!
And all that can be seen is seen,
and all that can be done is done .
Untill every blackbird that sings upon the village green ,
and every slug and worm ,
that Burroughs in-between ,
might feel the chill of the mornings dew ,
and the warmth of the rising sun anew .
Then go before the snakes coiled spring
moves swiftly to its prey ,
hastening it's sirens to every whim
that wells up throughout the day .
For the adder and the cobra strike with vile intent ,
and sin when it's coil is sprung brings a poison that dulls the soul
if left without being pruned or sheered .
For bile left when fully grown,
brings only death and foolish jeers .
For the grave has no use for pansies and fox gloves ,
no need for romantic thoughts of love .
Just a stone to remember who has been,
and a cross to bear in redeeming love .

There was once a girl who climbed upon a hill,
and began to sing as if at will ,
to anyone who came along ,
to anyone who could hear her song .

And so I came to see a girl looking down upon me ,
and watched as she lifted her finger to her lips ,
that I become as silent as a bird ,
just in case the bird inside her heard .
And as she did she spilled the water from her jar ,
which came cascading down as far ,
so caveities would be formed in its wake ,
as rolling thunder and torrents quaked .
Pouring incesentley from above .
Then down from its jaws ,
I saw water seeping out of its pores ,
untill I took a sip from what had spilled ,
so I began to speak as if by her will,
bearing arms from my tongue,
came words I had not thought or sung .
And so the saddest song of love I came to sing ,
to end this poor girls suffering.
For trapped inside this poor child lived
the sweetest sonnets ever.,
Incased in bone cartridge and skin.

For when she was five she began to cry ,
all because her nan once said
" There be a blackbird singing inside your head "
And there it stayed for many a long day ,
and in twenty long years bore her grief ,
and many long tears .
Untill one day a prince came her way ,
Whistleling as he walked along ,
Whistleling untill he heard her song ,
Untill he touched her wet lips with a sigh ,.
And as he looked to see who she was,
she had fled ,
and all that could be heard was the singing
Of a bird ,
inside the princes head .

There was once a man who lived alone ,
he didn't laugh ,
he didn't moan,
the only person that he saw ,
was a young man ,
who brought blackcurrants and jam to his door.
And when he did ,
the lonely man who just loved jam,
stuck his ***** fingers in ,
and licked the jam jar dry ,
which he had shared with his charming little guests .
So he sat down on a stone ,
to play the lute on his own ,
to charm his new friends with their dainty colourful wings
from the skies,
to end up in his fruitfly pies .

So to the forest the young couple did go ,
to hear his sad tale of lament ,
Which they had heard from their mansion
on the hill ,
where blackberries grow ,
and are there to this day even still.

For the trees felt very different
when the lute sings along ,
when the trees and their branches
give out their songs .
For the trees when the different seasons came ,
and went ,
turned to amber ,
and then to red ,
before the winter came .

And so the young lady who made blackberry jam ,
gave it to her lover ,
but he thought it vile ,
and took it far away,
to a door he had never seen before ,
covered in moss and ivy .
And he never said a word ,
and that is why they never ate supper.

And all that was left was blackberry jam in
the form of a man .
And all that was left was a fine sticky mess
after the flies had jam and butter
and  had finished their blackberry supper .

So off they all went ,
to the house with a blackberry bush ,
to sell to the lady ,
who.had purple stains on her dress ,
who always tried to look her best ,
who tried not to swallow,
because they said they would be back tomorrow.

Dear Theodore ,
                    You have looked better
when you were not dead ,
for this candleabra I have set before you
holds you in your  best light it is said .
For there is a hollow sockets  where your eyes used to be ,
that once shone like stars when you first danced  with me ,
that once shone into eternity.
Your olive eyes blazed  like gold medallions
drifting out to sea,
whenever I walked by ,
now seem so hollow and empty
like there are no longer any stars in the sky .
A deep.orange glow from the fire that burns like brimstone reflects  upon  your bone  ,
how I wish you could  still feel it ,
whenever were alone.? .
As  a silhouette reaches out like my  hand
upon your face .
So. let me my love plant  these  white roses
in the eternal eye sockets I once called your face .
so you might at last see eternity,
again when we look into each others eyes.
And your teeth like jewels  shall at last be my prize ,
as the new  moon looks down,
shall I not administer a love
Potion that was once given to me,
by a lady I once  saw at dusk by the sea ?
And your moustache that once ticked
my cheeks ,
that made the  looking glass so  jealous,it started to curse my my every whim,
whenever  your moustache          needed a trim.Sadly now  my wax burns low ,
my candleabra I must blow ,
lest the fire keep a constant glow
or I must bid you a fond goodnight ?
For the light from the flame
now holds a certain distain.
So here's to you Theodore ,
we shall meet again  once more and  the new moon  will arise  to adore ,
through a  hole in the wall,
where the tower and turrets once looked so tall .
So  we might at last dance again the pavane,
in the merriment of the halls of the vile and obscene .