Oh, Grandpa do not light your pipe
But tell us a story please,
So say Heather and little John
When they scramble upon my knees.
I tell them stories of long ago,
Legends and fairy lore,
To the house of dreams and make believe,
I open the golden door.
Jack and the Beanstalk, Puss in Boots,
Snow White and the Wicked Queen,
And how the fairies removed the hump,
From Edmund of the Green.
Hansel and Gretel caught by the Witch,
And pretty Red Riding Hood,
And the birds that covered up with leaves,
The little Babes in the Wood.
How Cinderella went to the Ball and
Rapunzel let down her hair,
And the Beauty who slept a hundred years,
And still kept young and fair.
The Frog Prince and the Golden Ball,
Of the daughter of the King,
And the children of Lir turned into swans,
To the Holy Bells would ring.
The Pagan myth of Tirnanogue,
The land of the ever young,
And lost Atlantis earthquake torn,
To the depths of ocean flung.
Such are the tales that I narrate,
To Heather and little John,
And perhaps the children that yet may be,
They shall tell them when I have gone.
Hugh Alexander 1968