To walk backwards on a path,
Not a path travelled before,
Around a Yew tree,
Seven times no more,
A tale of myth and lore,
To stand in awe,
Under the branches of the tree,
Where grave stones stand at angles,
Of those that passed before,
A whispered wish,
Cast to be free,
For in life on one's path,
What will be,
Will be,
To then find a Rose,
Upon a seat,
Colourful,
Beautiful and free........
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