The Guardian Angel

A man rummages through the moorlands

For a heart that was stolen long back;

She was his first love

The truest, sincerest of them all

And hiding in every bush and every bowerIn every blooming flowerHe sees his Mary, waiting to be his.

Two lovers meet at the pink hue of dusk

Merrily beneath the green tree

And Mary’s eyes shine as she pines

For their hearts to be forever intertwined

But hiding in every bush and every bowerIn every blooming flowerHe sees his Mary, waiting to be his

Yet, as she departs, her clairvoyant heart

Knew not what would unfold

As the waves rush by the green tree

They stand forever apart by the banks of the Lee

But hiding in every bush and every bowerIn every blooming flowerHe sees his Mary, waiting to be his.

It is often now that he searches for roses**Plucking the fairest from the thorns

As every tear rolling down his cheek is a memory

And every smile, a reminder of a new day being born

For he goes to his Mary everyday

And he embellishes her with the roses he picked

Lying right there by her graveside

Where she blissfully sleeps beneath the dew

And still, hiding in every bush and every bowerIn every blooming flowerHe sees his Mary, waiting to be his.