this is a song i've just heard from a friend's place - a beautiful love story of two lovers destined to be apart - it is sung magnificently from the man's perspective as here in this video - but i thought it might do well to be heard from her perspective - from the perspective of the rose - and so, i have played with the words a bit and put them together as i imagine the rose herself might tell the story - enjoy:
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‘twas a night like any other night in her life save for the magnificent full moon watching o’er her as she slept -
the same loving moon as looked down on him, there ‘cross the emerald isle -
him - he who had taken her heart with just the stroke of his pen - he who had stolen it away with his indigo ink -
and that night of the magnificent full moon he came to her in dreams -
he came to her as fully as if he had crossed those big waters and lay there himself beside her -
whispering into her heart all those words only sung in songs before -
he had come to bid her a fond farewell he said and he told her of his leaving, of his journey to a land far far away – a journey only he could make -
and under the light of the moon he whispered that he would ne’er forget her while he’s away –
that on those nights when he’s alone, he would think of her in visions from far far away, cross those emerald isles -
he would think of her with a fire burning deep inside – a fire no one else but she could ignite he whispered -
and on the nights of full moon in the heavens dark, as he flew gently by, he would look down upon her and call to her through the sleeping sky -
and so it was – that night of the full moon last that he came to her in dreams – a dream from which she was unable to tell from reality in the light of next day -
how she wished that he were there – with her – but she knew that’s how life goes -
and so it is that she, too, would wait – would wait for him – would think of him with a burning fire deep inside and on nights alone, he would come into her mind – into her dreams – from there, ‘cross the emerald isle –
she had no doubt of that – nor doubt of his return – for, after all, he – the one who had stolen her heart – the one who had flown away with her beating heart through nights of indigo ink, he - he was the mighty phoenix - the one destined to return time and time again - and this time, to her -
and she, well, so the story goes, she was the girl who lived south of boston -
- the girl he called
his rose -
~
his rose -
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