Margate’s Olde Inns - The Mulberry Tree
Featured in the February 2012 handbook.
The Mulberry tree that once stood here
Where all is barren bleak and bare,
Stood there- so Margate likes to think-
Before the War of the Roses.
And each year since, gave back to earth,
Whether in memory or in mirth,
It’s own rich red, empurpled blood,
Whenever summer closes.
Surely a garden hemmed it in
With Tudor Rose and wild Jasmine,
And a path ran away thro a wicket gate
To a babbling brook - with lass at the brink
And men may come and many go,
But the brooks gone for ever that we know,
And never again will the Sea Bass run
Where men see another go down in drink.
How many besides the Margate clown
Sat under the tree that we cut down?
The Bard perhaps with Marlowe and Ben
And men with tell tale noses.
The trees gone down the brooks dried up
And the gardener comes with a bitter cup.
This we know, if there’s more that we’ll know
As we go the way of the Roses.
Thanks to Alf "Legs" Beeching of the Margate Historical Society for sending us this poem.