Winters tale
what from this barran land can we reap? our fields are dry my body Frail Go on the trail before thy fail
In this open space I thee Lie upon I see trees on Either side and all there leaves to fall In my eyes
It is I write a few lines Of a poets story of thy Times We all like Mr chimes Who drinks gin on the
For the priest and the holy well And the bell .thy story tell., And for the spinning wheels, Spindle spun, And to walk over the sand dunes
Boil up to the heavens Of fire. To the external craters Below. Far from my body of soul
O.,er the banks Of the boni doon Touch and sit by The slippery moon O,.er the fields of
I see a game this a shame To see you at my front door a dame of fame sits by the Shore. Delights to see the blue floor
draw draw draw Near the artists lair Upon he sits on the Gallery chair Lay with honey yellow
Ah. let the sweet angels Dream. Keep his eye lids on thy Pillow, Fever make us all thin and
I stand upon the Venice bridge Of sighs, A palace and a prison on each Side. I saw from the tidal waves so
O, come to talk to Thee O there is only thee O, I love the winters Nights
Some books are short And sweet Some books are lies From end to end Some books are true
Yet you know upon you To let me suffer the pain The hurtfull strain in the Rain. Humilinate does you know sad
Oh I wait to see To the color of Blue Oh what can I do Sing a song for
The sweet smell of flowers Lies in the wet dewy grass Upon they wake of the dawn Of the day From dawn to dust they