marching years wear

furrows in our faces,

pits and wan hollows

no denying the traces

our faces look like hell

wrinkles so eerily bold

yet our hearts are kids

that'll never grow old

your skin was like honey

hair smoother than silk

hands, soft and tender

shoulders white as milk

honey and silk no more,

hands crabbed and bent,

shoulders thin and...

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At the end of the garden,by the big old oak

Hidden away from inquisitve eyes,

Is a dwelling place for the little folk

usually mistaken for butterflies!

The flowers grow higher, the grass much more sweet,

a soft green carpet under your feet.

It's easy to miss them, not clearly in sight,

the time they enjoy most, is quite late at night!

You see, they are cautious, and da...

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