Monday, 1 July 2013


Told by mama to go & play with the kids next door,
But she preferred chasing butterflies so much more,
Papa always worried because she talked to herself,
But she talked to old ghosts, fairies & the giggling elf.

She never liked fireworks, fun-fairs & party balloons,
Preferring cool green forests on summer afternoons,
No loud music & colours, nor crowds for this little girl,
Preferring soft grey mists & bird-song in which to twirl.

Growing up, men tried to bend her to their noisy ways,
But in cold lilac dawns, she preferred to kneel & pray,
Fast jiving feet & discos she forfeited for bended knees,
Drunk-sodden-leers she exchanged for whispering trees.

In time, marriage came to pass with a gentle good man,
Children arrived; she gave all, as only good mothers can,
Her life sped by & she did all that she was told & should,
But still she dreamed of silences of the deep green woods.

She´s the misfit in the lives of those who towed the line,
An island, floating in the dawn of her own beautiful time,
Her best friends, the moon & understanding silent morn,
Between two worlds born, ever since divided & sorely torn.

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