I smelled campfire smoke one evening..heard off key whistling, heard a splash and a shiver, (coming from the cold river) On the grassy side of Rascally Path, I encountered by the deep pond, cooking his supper sat the odd vagabond. He said he disliked beets before I asked, his name and what he was seeking down Rascally Path. CHORUS- Take note of the nettle, do not touch the wild bramble, Oer the stepping stones hop, do not hesitate. for the path is rugged, no trimmed city amble. The pathway ends at Shady Gate. He told me his name, Godfrey, he’d come from the big city. “Twas there I sought wisdom in poetry”, “I stayed there a year said he”. I have always been side tracked by cow trails and by-ways and Rascally Path beckoned, “follow me down here”. “I took note of the nettles, picked the fruit of the bramble, oer the slippery stones, I admit I did scramble”. “The river provided the plump trout I ate, I am not yet ready to pass through Shady Gate… By the still summer water, we sat quiet together, it was warm on the smooth stones we lay on our pillows of grass. Watched the stars spread their blanket, watched the quarter moon rise, watched her traverse the heavens over Rascally Path. “No i am not ready, said the vagabond Godfrey”, not ready to trek round that next grassy bend, tramp the rough pathway , my brown, muddy boots on, where Shady Gate opens at my journeys end.