A water droplet from a rose bush ,
Once fell onto the ground ,
for once it had withered
starved and died .
it’s form was unrecognisable ,
from its romantic story books of love .
Where the fine Prince offered up a rose ,
to his princess with the flickering eyes
Two lovers hand in hand ,
looked up into paradise ,
as two lover birds perched on high sang softy. their  Song of love .

Nobody wanted to pick its buds ,
nobody pruned it’s stem .

Untill  a little girl with a watering can ,
and a red ribbon in her hair ,
came along and with a song , filled it full of love .

Each flower bloomed ,
and she name each colour
by its looks .
This ones pink ,
that ones yellow ,
now what shall I do with you ?

The last rose said
Well I can make you cry
With joy ,
or I can make you very  sad ?
But If your friend can fill your heart with all these things now
That won’t be so bad ?

Well my boyfriend name is red ,
so  name  you after him ,
You will be my pride and joy ,                                                               and I will teach you how to sing,
leave you in my mothers vase ,
and water you with love .

For I shall never let you wither and die ,
and you will fill our hearts with
Joy .

Then one day Reds roots began to wilt ,
and Red  the boyfriend played with his red little truck ,
more than gardening with Liv .
Their friendship died and the rose was thrown  out into  the bin ..

For love is such a fragile thing it’s petals aren’t meant to last .
But when it does what joys it brings ,
to everybody’s hearts.

Where the  river bends ,
and fishing boats were moored ,
for it is by these tranquil waters I have seen her walk .

Now There was a house apron a hill ,
Where the rich found time to mame and ****.
where the foxgloves lined up  all in a row .
Underneath there were fields
and meadows a glow .
Where men who owned but a farthing in rent ,
who toiled for their Lords ,
every day the good Lord sent .

And there was a river where I first met you ,
for you’re eyes were as bright as. the flowers in you’re basket ,
fragile and blue .
“ Tuppence a ha penny each one in bloom
There are fox gloves and roses ,
both picked for spring ,
and daffodils a plenty all singing in tune ,”

half way to paradise if i bought the moon
I thought to myself as I stood by you’re side .

But I wanted from you a flower so dainty and rare ,
tucked away in your basket ,
you were hoping I wouldn’t see it there .

“ Oh please not that one you said with a smile
That one I have set aside ,
You see the man who picks that flower ,
it is with him I must reside .
please buy from me  foxgloves or a rose ,
purple white or yellow and red ,
for there are so many “

So I bid her farewell
and off she went ,
to find her lover by the banks of the Afon Nedd .

And as I was walking away the men soon came ,
In search of a flower as rare as her name.

A stranger rode with his lover into town ,
to buy a flower of love .
For he heard long ago
from a place he didn’t know ,
that if you bought foxgloves and roses ,
from the Afron Nedd
You will end up in bed !


“ Oh won’t you buy this one sir I picked it just for you ?
for you are the one that makes my heart go boom ,
Up to castell  Nedd where the flowers are of violet , pink , and blue .”

“ But mame said the.man my wife wants th3 Roses and foxgloves
of love  not your dainty rare flower O heavens above .”

So now she goes rambling I have seen her alone ,
alone with her most precious flower all on her own .
Walking through the beacons alone and forlorn ,
when I take my horse a riding though fields and planes .

And I still love her dearly if she would just give me a chance ,
to pick that dainty flower ,
and unpick the lock on her heart .

Her cheaks were as red as a rose the day that we met ,
like two peaches yet red in colour ,                                                           and.  as soft as her breast .
Yet the chandelier above our heads
was as dazzling as her looks .
But for all my charming manors  she had her eyes set on the tall man with the whip .With his dark brooding looks
and  his charming ways ,
he had a chilling stare .
With tranquil murmurs that brought a colour to her eyes ,
she turned to him as if I wasn’t there.

if I could just take her away ,
from these abandoned ruins of darkness and dispair ,.
for This fortress of love that dwells in her heart     ,
can only lead to tears when death do they part .

On a white horse called. Charger we would ride with
her on side saddle ,
she as my bride .
Away from these dungeons of darkness  ,
I would give her my heart .
Far away with black clouds moving to and fro  above us ,
could never tear us apart .
I would take her to where God hides his
golden lilies of love .
far away to silver mountain ,
O won’t you follow me ?
for his eyes are as dark ,
as the depths of the sea .



But this night canst only live in the dreams only in part ,
as she hands me a glass of red wine ,
Instead of the keys to her heart .

If love was just a butterfly upon a summers day ,
dancing above daffodils then flying far away .
For if love could be a stolen locket ,
taken from a tower ,
with a picture of her lover ,
dancing before a flower ?
But if love is none of these ,
and does not waver ,
and does not flint ,
but shows its many colours in O so many ways ,
in roses and violets and O so many other dainty things
we could love all our days ?
Then let it be like the morning ,
that hope we have each day ,
as rays of light come calling
to brighten up our day.

Because that is what my sister is ,
always thoughtful and serene ,
a lady of many colours ,
a spectrum of crystal beams.
looking out into the sunlight ,
as every morning unfolds.

An all encapsulating flower ,
before it’s petals fall ,
the spraying of salt water ,
against a harbour wall .

A light house to a bird ,
beaten back by the winds entrepid gales ,
but above all a safe harbour when all else begins to fail .

My Father was a gentleman ,
he loved to do what was right.
but above all a loving Father
in everything he did ,
beit playing catch with a rugby ball on Sunday afternoons.
Or digging the garden always with a pipe in hand .


Tall dark and handsome ,
was my Dad in so many ways .

So tall my gran never lost him in a crowd
or so she used to say ,
you could see him a mile off for he had fair Curley hair ,
when all the other girls could only stand and stare ,
my mother asked him for a dance as love bloomed in the air .


But it was my sister Father took too the dance floor ,
as she learnt to waltz across the Room ,
to the tunes  of Bacharach and Rich ,
on some smoke filled  afternoon .
But when the lights were dimmed ,
and moon set far above the stars ,
which somehow looked down on them ,
from other far out galaxies  hidden from afar .
the waves washed up against the shore ,
with moonlight and roses beaming in their eyes ,
‘‘Twas their nights of paradise that encapsulated the room ,
every single night .


Yet when the mornings rays sent to lighten up the room ,
with sparrows and blackbirds chirping their O so happy tunes ,
Memories of childhood stars ,
bring memories of love .
Sitting in my bedroom even to this day ,
those memories stay with me ,
and last throughout my day

How silent the wood seems now ,
that everyone has left .
Or perhaps they never were ,
to the untrained eyes of the unwanted guest ?

The streams and Brooks are still flowing ,
their waters never end ,
and the birds will soon be chirping,
alive their happy song .
to reclaim the wood that man once trod ,
and thought he once belonged .

Her Queen is now in paradise she  goes a waltzing through her trees ,
caught only by the passing dancing whispers of her leaves .
“ She looks happy now for the strangers bones
have now all broken ,
for they have turned to mulch before her feet ,
and lie a compost for her bed .

and the leaves and trees before her , they form a trail before her ,
and so ,
break out in song .

they go on and on and on .
As the winds and trees obey her ,
and sing her happy tune .

And soon the trees are Waltzing with each other in her wake ,
for nothing shall stand before her ,
not man ,
or beast or snake .

For the costers who once sold apples ,
they stripped them from her trees.                                                         they  came across a glade in the Forrest .
They  lit fires and gorged on anything that flew ,
or swam ,
or moved ,
then fell in silence to their knees .

And by dusk they all had all vanished ,
not a *** or burning ember to be seen .

As as for the men who came with axes to cut down what they could find ? Well they disappeared like the stranger ,
under no rock or stone could they hide .

And as the sun rises softly ,
into a warming pastel hew ,
her warm rays balm in sunlight ,
as the Queen takes up her throne ,
to gaze upon in glorious sunlight ,
for  her throne is made out of skin and bone ,
content that man knows  best,
to think that the Forrest is his home .

The skies are quieter now ,
the birds were  full of song.
and. as  ancient. woodland stretches out her hand
their dark fickle  shadows fall ,as if to say ,
“ You’re not welcome here  go home you really don’t belong .’


And so the. stranger  rests his staff  for  a while gently against
a tree
to sit down besides a brook . .
For  his days are getting shorter now ,
for they are much more than whenst he took .


A gentle whisper in his ear from a starling fleeing her nest
She says “time waits. for  not even for you ,                                            so please do not invite
him in and think that he’s your guest .”

And so the stranger  picks up his staff and goes upon his way ,
and never again finds time to stay  
as the woodland soon gives up her song ,
and falls silent along his way

Yet silence is an unwanted guest ,
she never asks to stay ,
but if she does ,
don’t leave her long ,
for she might never go away .                                                                ­   For the woods which were once full of song ,
now hides a deadly grin .

What horrors that lie in tell ,
no words no man has ever seen .
except for the singing of the birds ,
and the dancing of the leaves .

Of all the secrets that wood holds ,
this stranger  will ever  tell
for no one has ever heard or seen,
the mystery’s of her  dancing Queen .
That shifts the branches to and fro ,
who tells the winds which way to blow .

And all that was left was a babbling brook ,
When the sun arose the following day,
no stranger lost was ever found ,
and is still goes missing to this day .