Young child,
Remember the promise,
The contract signed in
your first heartbeat.

Your first breath was not easy
And it never will be.

Young child,
You did not open your eyes
To live the rest of your life
Dreaming;
In your very first speech
You were screaming -
Young child,
You came to us
Squealing
Asking:
"What are these feelings I'm feeling?"

And I told you
This is pain,
You are alive,
And your promise is
Struggle and heartbreak
Even while you smile,
Young Child,
Your promise is death
For a while.

One sunny springtime morning
I met her on a fair day.
I saw her from a distance
Out strolling on the fairway.

As like the springtime morning
She filled the air with joy...
She was a rose of England
And I a blacksmith's boy.

I heard that she was singing
As I maundered ever near;
The sweetest, charming plainsong
Sent softly to my ear.

As like the springtime morning
She filled the air with joy...
She was a rose of England
And I a blacksmith's boy.

She had the rarest countenance,
She had the fairest flowing hair;
She looked the grandest lady,
Ethereal beyond compare.

As like the springtime morning
She filled the air with joy...
She was a rose of England
And I a blacksmith's boy.

She was a rose of this fair land,
The flower of Saint George,
But I my master's vassal,
A servant of the forge.

So, like the springtime morning
She filled my heart with joy...
She, a rose of England
Whilst I, a blacksmith's boy.