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The Red Rose
Sitting in the garden today, upon a chair,
looking out from the shelter of my hat.
I am sharing a laugh with my favourite authoress,
Christina Jones, the daughter of a circus clown.
She’s a Lancashire lass, just like me you know?
I look at the pear blossom hanging from the tree,
in beautiful tight white buds waiting to flower,
It will be a heavy crop of pears this year.
Pear and ginger jam, my sons, favourite
pear and apple crumble, hmmm hmm
served with lashings of vanilla custard.
Oh my mouth is watering at the very thought,
summer’s bounty is looking mighty good.
The apple trees, recently pruned,
are heavy with blossom, and the redcurrant flowers
deep and sultry pink, hang like rosy lips to candy floss.
The blackcurrant bush is climbing in the haw,
the blackberries are just red, not yet ripened.
They will be the gifts of a harvest hoard.
Apple pie, rhubarb and apple jam,
Oh there goes that watering mouth again.
Apple crumble, with fresh cream, need I go on?
Now, how can I be restrained, when I am surrounded by such delights?
Roses are starting to bloom, deep red, for this Lancashire Lass.
The grass is in need of some loving care, to line the stripes of green carpets,
and enrich the visual splendour which welcomes you to my home,
where my soul resides and my heart waits to encompass you.
Nettles rich in iron for delicious nettle tea, yuk!
They grow in abundance in the field behind the house.
My horse, Blue, with nettle rash on his nose,
stares at me camouflaged by the boughs of the silver ash trees.
He is waiting for some after sun, to soothe the itch.
J.P, my greyhound, is sleeping at my feet,
he will have his exercise later when the day cools.
I have no work today; I am allowed to sit around,
the housework calls, but I have a selective ear.
All can wait for another day,
for the beauty in my garden just has to much appeal.
Come share my hammock and drink iced mint tea,
I will bake a scone, and tell you about my life,
serve you delicious pressed elderflower wine,
another gracious gift, from hedgerows surrounding the roadside.
We will chat about life and love, if you have the time to listen.
Come, all are welcome to my little garden home
where birdsong orchestrates a tribute to all that I want to be.
Friends, just like my garden and me.