Saturday, June 17, 2006


The king he had a daughter fair; Arbutus was her name.


Cast off, cast of your very brown gown, and stand upon the stone, for if you be a maid or none, the truth it must be known.


And she's cast off her very brown gown, and let the gown fall free, but before the hem did touch the ground, she's turned into a tree.

Her lover became the gentle breeze; through her branches he does play, and she sheds off her soft brown bark, until this very day.

(Paddy Graber)

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