Ancient Woodland, Leicestershire

Good Sir, shall we dance?

I said with a glance.

In the shade of that age-old tree.

 

His big strong arms

And his genuine charms,

Held a power for all comers to see.

 

His canopy wide,

Yet deep roots, he did hide,

As we obey the etiquette of ancient court

 

We swayed with the breeze

With consummate ease

Our romance, though gentle, was fraught

 

I return now and then,

To that pale woodland glen,

To gaze on my love come to naught.

 

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