There is a gift that is hidden here
Among these trees of twisted pine
And although it be so very rare
It does exist that I might find

It is not gold or precious stones
Which hide below, that I not see
For there it is... just a head
It grows at the base of an ancient tree

So very rare, this flower in bloom
On this warm summer day to find
That grows out of the needles here
Which fall from this most ancient pine

And what is the name this flower to take
That finds its home beneath this tree
It is the wild snapdragon... She grows
In all her loveliness, my eyes do see

 Robert Smith

The Journey On

It is, that I should not think of you
As I lie here in her bed
With sweet words spoken in her ear
The same words to you I’ve said

Where should this lead me now from here
This night that I have chose this path
That will lead me further from your shore
Upon my broken hearted raft

And as I leave to part your shore
It is within my eyes… formed tears
That I should blow a kiss goodbye
To my truest love, so ever dear

Although when truth be told it this
As my sweet words did reach her ear
And I lay here within her bed
It is only you, I think of... So dear

 Robert Smith