Tell me dear, where
is it that your pretty bones do lie?
Underneath yonder hills,
beneath God´s breathy sky,
Waltzing in frocks
of daffodils with hems of lilac blues,
Dancing toes of dewy
lawns, shod in pretty daisy shoes.
Serenaded by cold night
winds & kissed by gentle breezes,
Told old tales by the
ancient bones, who lie below & freezes,
Warmed by summer´s
sunbeams & in dawn caressed by frost,
And deep within the
earth´s sod, your history´s name embossed.
Your pretty bones now
lying, where once there swam great whales,
Lying beneath these
rolling hills, besides the bones of dragon´s tails,
Your grave I cannot
find, but in this old land you once called home,
I know that beneath
these gentle hills, is where you rest your bones.
Where old echoing ghosts
go calling, on the dark autumnal nights,
Garbed & robed
in the gowns of winter, in ermined snowy whites,
With soft coronet of
silver stars, upon your moon touched head,
Your pretty bones,
beneath these hills, are now safe & gently wed.
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