“Please come & dance far away with me”,
said he,
Promising to waltz me away, across far &
distant sea,
“Don your pretty frock, let´s dance to flute,
fiddle & drum,
Lift your red frilled petticoats & put shaming
to the sun”.
No dear sir, I prefer to garb my soul in mists
of gentle grey,
In mantle of ancient green, where the willows
bend & pray,
Please just give me the melodies of old &
whispering oaks,
And my dancing I shall do with Druids in moss-clad
cloaks.
If you prefer sunny days & I opt for mists
of swirling greys,
You want the coloured noise of jigs & I
prefer a gentle sway,
Then you must go to your din, while in my forest
I must stay,
And we can never be together, so please sir,
be on your way.
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