The Gardens of Shropshire

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Neighborhood Folklore

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There once lived a garden of roses, with petals like the Himalayan snow
Their thorns were as daggers of the devil's own spear
Ten feet did each bush of them grow
Their keeper was called Lilian of Shropshire, she cared for each bloom with her soul
And would prune every limb that the winter would steal
To make way for the new from the old
There came to her a widower name Daniel, in their home, a dark storm took his wife
He sought pure white flowers to lay on her grave
But found Lilian the idol of his eye
Days passed, the two spent them together, with late revelries, drinking sweet wine
Til Daniel kneeled down, on her hand placed a ruby
And asked Lilian for the rest of her life
She said, Daniel, I've loved before, so I beg of thee, please don't implore
For the rose owns the key to my heart
The only love I seek lies in it's art
Forgive me, I fear we must part
He said, Lilian, I'll burn down your gardens, and turn all your beauty to ashes
I'm a man of great pride, who won't be outdone
If you live for your flowers, you'll die by the thorns
So, Daniel rose up and threw down his wine
The thunder rolled in as the lightning did strike
Then Lilian withdrew
A rose limb she'd pruned
What followed was solitude and peace
With the evening not mentioned again
Lilian still tends to the garden in Shropshire
Where now all the roses grow red

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