Round and round we go, two and thrice in throw,
Whilst hand in hand in fairy land.
We dance and prance around the rockpool,
Until the last one cannot stand.

I lay down in that busy rockpool and finally open my heart unto the floods,
This once impregnable fortress finally lowers its rusted and seized port cullis one last time.
With the moss of ages and the barnacles uprooted and torn away it lowers its decaying  drawbridge,
To let the tide wash in and carry out on its ebb, all of its ache, sadness and regrets far out into the vastness of the ocean.

The soul and spirit is empty you see,
The heart has now been opened for the waves and tides.
There is no fire nor fuel left in the furnace,
Not even a dying ember nor spark, but only a withered rose stem which finally succumbed to the dark..

All that resides left in incredible depths, Is fine *** ash,
Only good for shovelling up and scattering on the fields to maybe start again.
And those vines of that crop which fed once in abundance will grow strong, tall, fine and straight like youthful men,
Feeding off of the nourishment of past memories.

In time when these mighty vines look back to their roots,
Their hearts will ache to find their mighty benefactor.
Once again they will return to that ancestral home,
To *** some ash and plant a striking red rose in that tended bed.

Without their knowing a buried ember disturbed is glowing,
and forgotten roots, soon shoot and expand.
To once again become the source of wisdom, the all knowing,
Soon to bring life back to this long lost forgotten land.