twelve lines

I walked through purple heathers wild
their heads washed fresh with dew
and in their perfumed boudoir
I wrote this song for you
I sang it as the sun gave way
to fogs upon the glen
and even o’er the mists of time
I’ll sing it now and then
whenever heathers breathe the air
and sigh their last bouquet
my thoughts within these simple words
is all I’ll have left to say.

Faux Folk Song

St. Patrick sailed from Tithebarn Street
or so the story goes
and sailed across the Irish Sea
a thousand years ago
and all the snakes in Ireland
did quiver in their skins
as they’d heard St Paddy
had come to do them in.

St. Patrick sailed from Tithebarn Street
in dark old Liverpool
where woodlands fell as sailors tell
for ships the seas to rule
and on board such a sturdy bough
he sighted Eire’s green
and all the serpents quaked and shook
he’d come to do them in.


I heard Lord Bacchus try to sing
discordant sad and long laments
of eternal thirsts unquenched
that to his blood red eyes did bring
a tear for all those sorry souls
who to his world of vineyard’s old
gave all their dreams so cheaply spent
in trade for those his kisses lent.

yet on the dire and sunken host
such melancholic ayrs are lost
as they pay gladly all that costs
and to Lord Bacchus spend the most.