The Queen of Winter looked about,
tinged with sorrow, touched by doubt.
The time of change was in the air,
a keen smell dancing through her hair.
Springtimes breath should fill her dreams,
casting spells of summers peace,
as with her court she, serene sleeps,
awaiting on autumns counsel fair.

But troubled now, her gaze is sharp,
what things are come forth from the dark.
Drawn uncalled by winters cold,
things unholy, things too old.
Prowling in the biting frost,
preying on unwary lost.

"there is a way," she says to all,
"to reawaken springs fair call.
I need a braveheart, strong and true,
to carry springtimes promise through!"
None spoke, none moved, all-fearing stood,
then from beneath Her throne of wood,
"I'll go."

And there was an unlooked for guest,
a small young Hare to take the quest,
And she remembered then his face,
beneath last years fall of  leaves.
A little leverett, bereft, born too late,
so sadly left, but seen by chance.
Compassion in the great ones glance.

Set free to tumble in the spring,
to run and dance, and dream and sing.
But wise to evils coming threat,
returned to pay his debt.

"I'll carry springtimes welcome song,
my eyes are bright, my legs are strong,
and though I know you dread I'll fail,
a faithful heart can but prevail!"

A speech of such unwitting grace,
that tears did stain the lady's face.

"So little one, you made a choice,
how gentle is your sweet young voice,
and I instill my strength and love,
to bear your burden far.
And if you fall, the world will know,
my tears of ice will stain the snow."

A little bag of felt was made,
new boots of doeskin,
laced and tied,
a cap to cover well his head,
and then the time,
to face the dread.

"Into this bag I place the spring,
no feather weight, no little thing,
though sadness wishes you could tarry,
this burden forth we ask you carry."
And so with spells of love and care,
out into winter sped our hare.

Through the secret postern gate,
into unremitting hate,
dreading not the rising fear,
but only that the spring was late.

Trotting lightly over snow,
the little lad did boldly go,
leaving lightest prints  behind,
nothing for the Beasts to find.
But, stirring in the darker woods,
creatures of despair still stood.

Crawling, stooping, no poise or grace,
evil made a start to chase,
our little hare, who, so well aware,
kept a steady pace.

Beasts of the pit, deep in the earth,
smother life with their dark curse,
drawn to light to look askance,
hating their own long lost chance.

Breaking through and into sight,
using all the darkest might,
straining fibre, blood and bone
to **** our little hare.

Dancing, swerving, to and fro,
Is he caught? Ah through, now go!
How can one so slim and small,
battle evil spirits tall?
But, from towers far above,
flows an ancient, caring love.

Sending creatures of the woods,
fight the evil with their good,
crows and eagles, claws and beaks,
wolves and foxes, strength and teeth.
Fighting now for what they chased,
and grateful for his speed unceased.

" Pass beyond us, little hare,
and we will turn and, face the stare!
Whatever evil comes to pass,
we dream of springtimes fragrant grass"

So captains of the wood as one,
stand together as they come,
though many fall not to arise,
they battled evils changing guise.
None pass unmissed, she sees them fall,
The Ice Queen marks their everyfall.

The breathless runner toils anew,
oh can he take this burden through?
the night is falling dark and fast,
and still dark forces  are amassed.

New foes astir, claw at his feet,
sharp teeth snap, and call deceit,
arms of knotted sinew strain,
to clutch, to grasp, but still in vain!
Our little hero runs so swift,
at each new threat his own pace lifts.


Cut and wounded by the beasts,
ragged ears, and bleeding feet,
nothing slows the running hare,
"come, you catch me if you dare!"
he gasps beneath a fell  beasts stare...


Then, coming slowly into view,
a wondrous sight, and hope anew,
a woodland tinged with shades of green,
could this be spring, will he get through?

And now the Green Man of the spring,
sees the chase and starts to sing,
"Come all my peoples of warm earth,
we'll war these beasts of death and dearth!"
Flashing eyes, and racing foes,
to battle now for good they  go.

Now at the Green Mans feet hare lies,
the light now fading from his eyes,
his burden passed to hands of care,
all gaze with wonder, little hare!
His duty done, his race is run,
it's now his time to die.

But from afar, a Snow Maids call,
"this once, Man listen to my call,
I'll ask of you no other thing,
than heal this creature, let us sing!"

Together, distant words that heal,
renew the turning of lifes wheel,
The young hare races, where he will,
Watch, and you'll see him, running still.

The Georgian Manor in Ripon Town
Had seen far better days,
The chimney pots had fallen down
And the windows, scarred and crazed,
The paint had peeled from the cedar door
And the ivy climbed untamed,
From the days of the aristocracy
The house was re-arranged.

There were flats and a communal kitchen
But no carpets on the floor,
The walls were damp and the paper peeled
In strips, from the old décor,
When Jennifer took an upstairs flat
She shuddered, ‘It won’t be long.’
But things in her life had taken a turn
With everything going wrong.

She lay on the iron poster bed
And she cried herself to sleep,
Ever since her engagement went
All she could do was weep,
The future, bleak and forbidding now
Held nothing but fear and tears,
It yawned ahead in her misery,
An aeon of wasted years.

At night, the gloom would descend, a pall
Would settle upon her room,
She’d lie awake to the mutterings
That seemed to come from the tomb,
The manor had once been bright and gay
With Lords and Earls, and Dames
Plucking at hammered dulcimers
While playing their wooing games.

And standing off in the corner was
A wardrobe, made of teak,
The doors were locked, there wasn’t a key
It was just some old antique,
Or that was what she had thought at first
‘Til her interest fired her mind,
And she levered open the doors one night
To see what there was to find.

She found there what was a treasure trove
Of gowns and hoods and capes,
Of silken skirts with their bustles,
Party masques for their escapades,
Muslin dresses and bodices
That Jennifer gaped to see,
That ladies wore all those years before,
And whalebone corsetry.

She felt a hidden excitement while
Surveying the gorgeous past,
And then an ineffable sadness that
Such grandeur didn’t last,
The woman that wore these party gowns
Was laid in an ancient grave,
Along with her beaus and suitors all,
The clothes alone were saved.

One night she weakened, and tried them on,
They seemed like a perfect fit,
Over the laced up corsets when
She donned a satin slip,
She chose a gown with a turquoise hue
With a bustle of ribbon and lace,
While the gas lamp that had never worked
Lit up, to reflect her face.

Then music wafted under her door
From a dulcimer and lute,
A wistful song from an old spinette
And a Love song from a flute,
She thrilled to enter the passage where
The gas lamps, in a row,
Played their light on the central stair
And the dancing, down below.

She floated to the head of the stair
As her gown trailed on behind,
And wondered as she descended what
Enchantment she would find,
The dancers stopped, and they looked at her
As she joined them on the floor,
And one said, ‘Here is the Faery Queene,
We’d best make fast the door.’

A fine young man in a tailcoat came
And he bent to kiss her hand,
From white cravat to his doeskin boots
He was quickly in command,
He whirled her breathless, into the throng
As the dancers wheeled and spun,
Risen up for this one enchant
That her dressing had begun.

But after one in the morning she
Began to fear and doubt,
The tapers happened to flicker and
The gas lamps all went out,
The dancers started to fade away
To return to where they came,
‘Til only she and the young man stood
In the glare of a single flame.

‘They’re happy now that you brought them back
Though the hours were swiftly spent,
They sleep again in their graves where they
Have aeons to repent.’
‘But what of you, must you join them there,’
As she clung to him the more,
‘Not I,’ he said, ‘for I’m not yet dead,
I live in the flat next door!’

David Lewis Paget

I wore a beret to the office today, and people had **** to say
I wore a baseball cap pulled down over my injured eyebrows
I wore a sombrero on an Edwardian picnic

I wore a beanie to bed every night and I think it helped a lot
I wore a balaclava that was frozen to my mouth
I wore a bucket hat because it fits my face
I wore a fedora before it was cool Reuben
I wore a kippah and family pearls
I wore a trucker hat that said
    BRIDE
while my wife wore a button down that read
    QUEEN

I wore a trilby then, and of course one smoked
even if one didn't enjoy it

I wore a kufi and a Public Enemy T-shirt
I wore a Santa hat and each child took my picture
I wore a homburg hat, carried a bumbershoot umbrella
I wore a panama hat to a polo match on a cloudless day
I wore a mortarboard and robe, looking tall and clear-eyed
I wore a tam o'shanter, and had Brave **** written on my back
I wore a pillbox hat to my wedding and still get compliments to this day

I wore a visor and brought a sarong with me every single day
I wore a top hat, a ripped up suit, and dead flowers in the pocket
I wore a deerstalker most of the day Saturday, and I never do that
I wore a stetson with crossed sabers, yellow cord and sgt stripes
I wore a dunce cap and was summoned to the corner for the rest of the day

I wore a boater in summer and a beret in winter.
I did not look as good as this girl

I wore a pith helmet, a veil, a bee proof space suit,
leather gloves up to my elbows

I wore a Phrygian cap of doeskin lined with otter

I wore a turban then. In a flash we were
in each other's arms in an unrelenting hug