Hair Of Gold Poem by Mark Heathcote

Hair of gold flowing over her face
Like a sweet little harebell flower
Sweet and blue as Campanula
Don't you just love her?

Oh my Joy is running over
It should have been me and her
In that chamomile and clover
Lord, man, she is a flower.

Hair of gold flowing over her face
Like fresh lemonade
Man don't you just love her grace
Lord her pomegranate freckled face?

Oh my Joy is running over
Her fairy folk are calling me over
Asking me to be their guest of honour
They're suiting me to her asking me to dinner.

And her Hair of gold flowing over
Oh its shoulder length
And it should have been me and her
In that chamomile and clover
At a length Lord, man, she is a precious flower.