Our English Rose

Their was only one for me,

as gentle as the shading free,

a beautiful silver birch tree.

Minerva and Bodecea,

the old Joanna,

summers run, gold and green.

Our sad tribune, this endless dream.

How we sparkled, in the Crompton Arms.

Down the Villa Cross, tribute and charms.

I will cut wild roses for thee, this healing spell for Tree.

Our dear Rose, gone before.

This our waiting day.

We will meet again.

LOVE IS NOT LOST, NO LESS.

dear Rose, my fair princess.