Poem by Charles Causley

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Hawthorn White, Hawthorn Red,
hanging in the Garden, at My head,
tell Me simple, tell Me true,
when comes the Winter, what must I do?

I have a House, with Chimneys Four,
I have a Silver Bell on the Door,
a Single Hearth, and a single Bed,
Not enough, the Hawthorn said.

I have a Lute, I have a Lyre,
I have a Yellow Cat by My Fire,
A Nightingale , to my Tree, is tied,
that Bird looks sick, The Hawthorn sighed.

I write on Paper, pure as Milk,
I lie on Sheets, of Shantung Silk,
on My Green Breast, no Sin has Snowed,
You’ll catch your Death, the Hawthorn crowed.

My Purse is packed with a five Pound Note,
The Watch Dogs in My Garden gloat.
I blow The Bagpipe down My Side,
Better blow your safe, The Hawthorn cried,

My Purse is steady, as My Clock,
My Wits are wise, as the Weather Cock,
Twice a Year, We are overhauled,
It’s double Summertime, The Hawthorn called.

I have A Horse with Wings for Feet,
I have Chicken each Day to eat,
When I was born, The Church Bells rang,
Only one at a time, The Hawthorn sang.

1. I Am the Great Sun

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