The Legend . 
When I was but a tiny lass, sat on my Fathers knee,
He shared with me a Legend, which I shall pass to thee.
It's set around the times of the ancient Camelot,
When Medieval knights fought for the Lady of Shalot.
King Arthur he was ruling Englands' precious Land..
But my tale... it shall unfold, in a very distant land.
A prince whose name was Albert, in the Gaelic Land of Wales,
Fell in love with the doctors daughter, or so will say the tales.
He wanted just to wed her, and make her his princess,
But his Father disallowed it, for she was not Royal Bless'd.
The lady's name was Yvonne, and she was the beauty of the town,
Always dressed so stylish, in a long and flowing gown.
One day they both were walking, through the local forest path,
When a dozen of the Kings horsemen came, frenzied in their wrath.
They saw the pair together, walking hand in hand,
And one tall horseman leant across
And smite the maidens hand.
In fear for what they surely did, they rode so far away,
Leaving Albert at her side, at closing of the day.
He bound her hand so tenderly with Royal robes, quite tight,
Feeling she would surely die, he stayed with her all night.
And as the dawn crept slowly over hillsides far away,
He checked she was still breathing at the start of the new day.
He grazed her brow so tenderly with the softest sweetest kiss,
And made a vow to God above, that vengeance would be his.
Then down there came from heaven, so totally unplanned,
A tiny graceful butterfly, and landed on her hand.
He watched as it just sat there, for minutes at its rest,
And all her wounds were healing, they surely had been blessed?
As if by pure magic, for sure within the hour,
Her hand looked just as it had done, just the day before.
She slowly opened up her eyes, and glanced at him with love,
As the tiny healing butterfly, took off to skies above.
They slowly walked together, to the castle far away,
Where Albert spoke unto his Father, of the story of the day.
His Father gave his blessing just to sanctify their love,
Saying that they'd both been blessed, by angels from above.
And so the Prince could take his bride,living joyful ever after,
And forever then the castle grounds were filled with youthful laughter.
Two years then passed, she was with child, an heir to Wales' throne,
And Albert bought a precious gift for his lovely wife Yvonne.
A precious box in silver, with designs within the lid,
Intertwined with vines...and very slowly she undid..
And out there flew a butterfly, unto the heavens high,
A reminder of the life it saved, as it flew up to the sky.
This is the tale as I was told, sat on my Fathers knee
As I showed my Dad the box I held,when I was only three.
I asked him where it came from,to tell me if he would,
As I fingered the engraving, he told me that he could.
It was a precious silver box, totally unlined,
But there within the lid I saw, vine leaves were entwined.
The Silver Box
( Addendum to The Legend )
Many folks have asked me, asked me if it's true,
And if I own a silver box, and could they kindly view.
The legend as was told to me, I have written here,
The box I know is handed down, through many a distant year.
All I know is, I believe, as it was told to me,
I know not of the truth of it...but on this I will agree..
A legend is a legend, up to each to then percieve..
But what would be the point of it, if no-one then believed?
My box to me is priceless, and never will be sold,
But passed down to my children, with a legend very old.
And when I open up its lid, I often hear the sighs..
Of love which grew so long ago, and gentle butterlies. 
Shooting Star.
I caught it in my pocket, I caught a shooting star,
I dont know where it came from but I know it must
be far.
It headed straight towards me, it travelled very fast,
I knew that when I caught it, my troubles wouldn't last.
I had no time to make a wish, before it had arrived, It landed in my pocket, I was lucky I survived! They
say that if you wish on them, all your dreams come true, I'm glad it chose my pocket...dont you wish that it was you?
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Fairies In The Garden 
There are fairies down the bottom of my garden,
They live within in crevace in a tree,
They come out when the moon is shining brightly,
And walk among the fairy land with me.
They all have wings and look so very pretty,
And stand no taller truly than my knee,
Yes there are fairies down the bottom of my garden,
But you have to be attuned so you can see.
The fairies took me often on adventures,
Every night I'd join them in my glee,
We'd wander off to fairyland with pleasure,
As from the modern living we would flee.
I was blessed to know the fairies in my garden,
I was lucky that they came to visit me.
I have not seen them now in almost forty seven years
But I saw them very real when I was three.
Phoenix 
Introduction:
Most beings spring from other individuals;
but there is a certain kind which reproduces itself.
The Assyrians call it the Phoenix.
The legend of the Phoenix has been around for centuries.
There are a few variations, but the basic idea is this:
The Phoenix is a supernatural creature, living for up to 1000 years.
Once that time is over, it builds its own funeral pyre,
and throws itself into the flames.
As it dies, it is reborn anew,
and rises from the ashes to live another 1000 years.
Alternatively, it lays an egg in the burning coals of the fire
which hatches into a new Phoenix, and the life cycle repeats.
Such is the legend of the Phoenix.
Phoenix
There's a legend so they say, from a thousand miles away,
Of a bird which lives so long, and is powerfully strong.
His wingspan is so wide, that it cannot be denied,
He is awesome in his grace, in another time and place.
He is known for being wise, as he soars above the skies,
So Egyptian legend says, he represents the strong sun rays.
As far as Christian folklore goes, with immortality he grows,
He will signify perfection, of his own pure resurrection.
Phoenix represents such things, like rebirth on angels wings,
And his life is born again, after suffering great pain...
He will burn within the flame, so we wont forget his name,
And through his own endeavour, his legend lives forever.
The Treasure 
There was a man I once knew of, his name was Billy Roy,
He lived not far from Katharine Gorge, he was a wild colonial boy.
Folks told such of tales about this man, so many years ago,
He had a find, near old Smoke Creek - a gift he could bestow.
A diamond it is said he found, the size of grown mans fist,
'Twas said in all Australia, no larger did exist.
Young Billy Roy did hide the rock, beneath a Boab tree,
Beside some pools of quite a size, which numbered twenty three.
He buried it a good way down, to come back in the 'morrow,
But when he did, the rock had gone, to Billy Roy's great sorrow.
When many years had passed on by, and Billy Roy was dying,
His son stood by his crumpled bed, his face so stained with crying.
And Billy Roy told of the tale, when he was twenty one,
Of treasured finds, and miracles, and diamonds yet unknown.
He then described the secret place, beside the Boab tree,
Just where his son could go and look, though he couldn't guarantee.
So years went by, the son made plans, to retrace his father trip,
He gathered all the tools he'd need, so he was well equipped.
And all he had, a verbal tale, a place he didn't know..
And a promise from his fathers lips of where he had to go.
The decades they had passed, it's true, between the man and boy,
The son just hoped to fill the dream, of his father Billy Roy.
And as the sun began to rise, the son soon found the trees,
And vowed he wouldn't ever stop, and he dug with expertise.
And as the sun began to set along the old Smoke Creek,
He saw a shining deep below....the treasure he did seek.
He held aloft the precious gem, antipodean glory -
This happy tale just ends right there - but the moral of this story?
Don't give up on all your dreams, or seeking long lost pleasure -
For you may find a rock of dreams, disguised as such a treasure.
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