I walked with my love hand in hand,
through fine fields of gold one day.
Till we reached a wide shield of green,
then tenderly turned to her and did say:
“My love, I did not buy you flowers.
I planted a tree for you on this spot.
For plucked flowers will wither and die
and my love will never waver or rot.
My love for you will last a thousand years
and then it will last a thousand more.
Its foundations are rooted firmly,
dug deep down beneath the floor.
My arms will reach out to you as branches,
always ready to hug and hold.
I’ll shelter you on rainy days
and stand firm against the cold”.
My love she looked most mortified
and then this she did sternly state:
“Your love for me is like a tree?
Oh, most wicked, woeful fate!
Is your skin so hard and rough as bark,
no soft sanctuary to be found there?
Will your love only be beautiful in summer
and when winter comes hang most bare?
And then one dark day a woodcutter will
chop your love and turn it into a chair.
Oh, say it isn’t so, my love!
Please show me that you care!”
At this I knew I had been defeated,
so sighed and then swiftly said:
“Very well – it seems you win, my love.
Next time I’ll buy you chocs and roses instead”.
Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.