The poet's voice lingers on
His words hang in the air.
The ground you walk upon
Might as well not be there.
Might as well not be there.

I'll take you through my dreams
Out into the darkest morning.
Past the blood filled streams
Into the garden of Jane Delawney.
Into her garden now.

Though the rose is there
Don't pluck it as you pass.
For a fire will consume your hair
And your eyes will turn to glass.
Your eyes will turn to glass.

In the willow's shade
Don't lie to hear it weep.
For its tears of gold and jade
Will drown you as you sleep.
Will you drown now.

Jane Delawney had her dreams
That she never did discover.
For the flow that feeds the stream
Is the life blood of her lover.
Is the life blood of her lover.

And the purifying beam
Of the sun will shine here never.
While the spirit of her dream
In the garden lives forever.
Lives forever now.

Bias (Tobias) Boshell.

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