A quiet farewell told in the rhythm of footsteps and the hush of a station platform.
“A Letter Left at Teddington Station” captures that moment when something is finally left behind—not in bitterness, but with resolve. This spoken folk ballad draws from the stillness of Teddington’s benches, misted tracks, and quiet departures.

Part of The Teddington Chronicles — a series of lyrical narratives exploring personal turning points across riverside paths, parks, and stations in the London Borough of Richmond upon Thames.

Each word is weighted like the unsent letter itself. No dramatics, no reply—just acceptance.

[LYRICS]

I left a letter by the rails,
Unsealed, unsigned, unread.
The bench was cold, the sky hung low,
With parting words unsaid.

No platform call, no final glance,
Just names upon the board.
The train pulled in, I stayed behind,
And silence said far more.

Some words are meant for leaving,
Some hearts outgrow the page.
The letter stayed at Teddington—
A quiet stop, not a cage.

A breeze had stirred the paper’s edge,
But not enough to fold.
I listened for a whistle’s cry,
But knew that dream was old.

Some words are meant for leaving,
Some hearts outgrow the page.
The letter stayed at Teddington—
A waymark, not a cage.

If someone finds it, let them read,
Or toss it in the bin.
For every ending I once feared,
I now can hold within.

Some words are meant for leaving,
Some truths don’t need to age.
The letter stayed at Teddington—
A waymark, not a cage.


A Letter Left at Teddington Station – A Spoken Folk Ballad from the Teddington Chronicles (Lyrics Below)

From The Teddington Chronicles — a folk ballad cycle written among the quiet lanes and river paths of Teddington, in the London Borough of Richmond upon Thames.
"The Turn at Kingston Lane" captures a quiet moment of choice — a muddy footpath, damp hedgerows, and the breath just before change.
Set to traditional acoustic strings, the song reflects a solitary walk and a shift in resolve — neither tragic nor triumphant, but deeply personal.
This track continues the album’s thread of reflection, decision, and emotional pacing shaped by the local terrain.
Perfect for still evenings, grey mornings, and gentle thought.

[LYRICS]

The path grew narrow at the turn,
Where Kingston meets the lane.
I paused before the muddy track,
Then stepped through wind and rain.

The hedgerows swayed with whispered doubts,
Their thorns held drops of past.
But forward lay a clearing sky; 
The kind that doesn’t last.

Some roads are walked by choice alone,
No map, no sign, no chain.
And something shifts the moment you
Turn down the lane again.

I knew the path would pull me back
To where I once belonged.
But something in the silence said
That staying would be wrong.

A robin watched, then flew ahead,
As if to guide the way.
Its wings cut clean through memory; 
I followed, come what may.

Some roads are walked by choice alone,
No map, no sign, no chain.
And something shifts the moment you
Turn down the lane again.

I didn’t look for answers there,
Just space to breathe and see.
And when I reached the crooked gate,
It softly let me be.

Some roads are walked by choice alone,
No path returns the same.
But peace began that morning on
The turn at Kingston Lane.

And some turns lead you forward even as you look behind.

The Turn at Kingston Lane – A Pause Before the Rain (Lyrics Below)

Fold the Day Like Linen Fine is a gentle, reflective ballad — a lullaby not for children, but for the soul of the adult listener. Sung as a tender duet between male and female voices, the song unfolds like a quiet walk through memory and presence, guiding the listener from the stillness of dawn to the peace of nightfall. It speaks to the part of us that longs for calm, meaning, and reconnection — as if whispering to the inner child we all carry.

The piece was inspired during an extended stay in Teddington, a peaceful riverside town in the London Borough of Richmond upon Thames. Known for the River Thames, Bushy Park, and tree-lined footpaths, Teddington offered the emotional and sensory backdrop for the song. Its swans, footbridges, morning mist, and soft evening light shaped the rhythm and imagery of the lyrics.

This is a song of gentle invitations to observe, to breathe, to carry forward the quiet lessons nature offers. Each verse is crafted with balance and clarity, allowing the voices to blend as one: steady, warm, and grounded. It is both a folk song and an adult lullaby, rooted in acoustic storytelling and shaped by the emotional needs of modern life to slow down, to feel seen, and to rise whole again.

The duet carries its message not with urgency, but with quiet compassion. It doesn’t instruct, it simply walks beside the listener. Ideal for slow mornings, reflective evenings, quiet walks, or meditative spaces, this is a piece for those drawn to lyrical folk music or anyone seeking a return to peace.

At heart, this song is a love letter to the quiet corners of Greater London and to the stillness we rediscover when we learn to listen. A musical reminder that peace isn’t something we chase, it’s something we remember.

[LYRICS]

Rise, O soul, before the song
Of robins waking all day long
The river shines in silver light
And waits beneath the edge of night

Go walk where bending grasses lean
And let the hush bring something clean
A quiet truth you’ve always known
May rise and walk with you, alone

Step lightly where the wood beams wide
Across the stream with gentle tide
The roots below still drink and grow
While water hums the things it knows

Rest where the light and shadows fall
And swans drift slow beyond it all
Their peace won’t come if you give chase
It comes with time, and leaves no trace

Let laughter sound like morning bells
From children’s games the moment tells
And if your heart begins to sway,
Then let it lead you on your way

Take in the light on moving leaves
And learn from all a good heart grieves
It doesn’t cling, it doesn’t stay;
It shines, then gently slips away

Let shifting light in branches bare
Remind you love is always there
It comes, then goes, then comes once more
Just like it always did before

Watch how the bird lifts up and flies
With no regret, no need to stay
It takes to sky without a sound
Then leaves no weight upon the ground

See how the grass leans low, then right
It doesn't mind the fall of night
Though wind may press and dusk may call,
It still stands tall through rise and fall

Hear how the breeze begins to slow
As shadows stretch and soften low
Let silence sit, a gentle friend,
That helps you breathe and helps you mend

Sit near the stream that moves with care
And let go what still lingers there
Let stillness speak, let troubles cease;
For even pain will look for peace

See how the stars begin to show
As sky grows dark and time moves slow
So too your soul in quiet space
May shine again with steady grace

Now fold the day like linen fine
With hands that feel the peace is mine
And rise again when morning comes;
A better soul, for all you’ve done

Now carry forward what you’ve known,
The quiet path you made your own.
The quiet path you made your own.


Fold the Day Like Linen Fine – An Adult Lullaby for the Inner Child (Lyrics Below)

A fast-paced Celtic pub folk song sung by a cheerful rogue with more stories than sense.
Set across wild moors, misty coastlines, and misadventures that leave a smile, this song is a toast to all who live loud, love wildly, and laugh when the road kicks back.
Raise your glass and sing along.

Final shout:
“Mind your boots, chase the wind, kiss what kisses back—
and if the road kicks you, thank it for the story!”

[LYRICS]

So here’s to dreams that don’t behave!
To winds that blow and roads that rave!
I’ve kissed the storms and cursed the rain
Then danced them back to life again!

I left my town with boots half-torn,
A wink, a grin, a shirt well-worn.
A loaf, a coin, a note that said:
“Don't wait for me — I’m chasing red.”

And what did I say? Go chase it anyway!

I fell in love near Galway Bay,
She stole my heart — then sailed away.
She kept my shoe, I kept her name,
And both still pinch me just the same.

Did I learn? Not a thing!

So here’s to dreams that don’t behave!
To winds that blow and roads that rave!
I’ve kissed the storms and cursed the rain
Then danced them back to life again!

I slept one night inside a barn,
With one old priest and one young cow.
We all agreed: it wasn’t bad.
He prayed, she mooed, I dreamt like mad.

Would I do it all again? In a blink!

I climbed a cliff to see the stars,
Got stuck between the sheep and scars.
I sang till dawn, then slipped and flew
The moon just winked and caught me too.

So here’s to dreams that don’t behave!
To winds that blow and roads that rave!
I’ve kissed the storms and cursed the rain
Then danced them back to life again!

I’ve crossed the moors, I’ve kissed the mist,
Been chased for things I might have missed.
But joy’s a thing you cannot save—
It runs with dreams that misbehave!

So here’s to dreams that don’t behave!
To winds that blow and roads that rave!
I’ve kissed the storms and cursed the rain
Then danced them back to life again!

So here’s to dreams that don’t behave!
To winds that blow and roads that rave!
I’ve kissed the storms and cursed the rain
Then danced them back to life again!

Then danced them back to life again!
Then danced them back to—LIFE AGAIN!

So Here’s to Dreams That Don’t Behave – A Celtic Toast for Wanderers, Fools & Fiery Friends (Lyrics)

A cheeky Northern pub ballad about one pint, one lass, and one unforgettable night.
She came swingin’ in with boots untied... and nothing was ever the same.
Set in a village with heart, trouble, and just enough charm to make a man stay.

[LYRICS]

To town I came with no plan grand  
For peace, a pint, and village band.  
Took the lane for quiet grace  
Then Maggie tore up the place.

This lass Maggie came swingin’ through,  
With boots untied and trouble due.  
She gave the room her greetin’ glance,  
A nod, a wink, a half-done dance-

She caught my eye and held it still,  
A stranger’s face, a fresher thrill.  
She looked me over, head to heel,  
Then wandered up to strike a deal.

She laughed like sin and danced like grace,  
No thought, no pause, no savin’ face.  
One wink, one cheer, and all gave chase-
Then Maggie tore up the place.

I thought it banter, light and plain-
A village flirt, a drinkin’ game.  
A wee bit more than I’d ignore,  
As grins gave way to something more.

She laughed like sin and danced like grace,  
No thought, no pause, no savin’ face.  
One wink, one cheer, and all gave chase-
Then Maggie tore up the place.

Turns out this lass, all boots and flair,  
Spends her days with chalk and stare.  
A teacher wranglin’ bairns and lads,  
Who swaps the bell for pints and chats.

P’rhaps my peace was wrongly sought-
A bit o’ wild is what I ought.  
If trouble wears a smile that wide,  
I’ll chase it 'til she’s by my side.

So Maggie, lass, don’t slip away-
I reckon I’ll make home and stay.

She laughed like sin and danced like grace,  
No thought, no pause, no savin’ face.  
One wink, one cheer, and all gave chase-
Then Maggie tore up the place.

She laughed like sin and danced like grace,  
No thought, no pause, no savin’ face.  
One wink, one cheer, and all gave chase-
Then Maggie tore up the place.
  
O Maggie, lass, don’t slip away-
I reckon I’ll make home and stay.

When the Lass Maggie Tore Up the Place – A Pub Tale of Pints, Trouble and Grace

A rollicking pub-folk tale of cheek, charm, and surrender.
He came ready to deal—boots laced, contracts stacked—
But one lass, one wink, and the whole plan fell to song.

This ballad’s for anyone who thought they were in charge,
until a grin rewrote the rules.

[LYRICS]

I came in sharp, all boots and pride,
Me contracts stacked, me tie pulled tight.
Had half a mind to hold me ground-
Till she walked in and spun me ’round.

She strolled in late with ease and sway,
A grin that near took breath away.
One glance, a wink, a crooked grin-
And I was hers ‘fore we’d begin.

It weren’t no storm, it weren’t no fight,
Just one small wink that claimed the night.
No terms were read, no deal to seal-
But I signed up for good and real.
Aye, that wink, it claimed the night!

I had a plan, a line to rehearse,
She blinked and cracked me solemn verse.
Me list of rules, all neat and right-
She laughed and knocked 'em out of sight.

She sipped her pint and cocked her head,
I lost the thread of what I said.
I tried to speak, she took me hand-
That wink rewrote what I had planned.

It weren’t no storm, it weren’t no fight,
Just one small wink that claimed the night.
No need for stamps, no dotted line-
I gave me word, and called it fine.
Aye, that wink, it claimed the night!

I’d brought me charts, me stance, me plan,  
She brought her heels and devil’s plan.  
And just like that, the tale was writ-
I reckon I ain’t changed one bit.

So here’s me heart, no lawyer’s fee-
Just take it, lass, and let it be.
A grin, a pint, a soft delight...
And that wee wink that claimed the night.

It weren’t no storm, it weren’t no fight,  
Just one small wink that claimed the night.  
No terms were read, no deal to seal-
But I signed up for good and real.  
Aye, that wink, it claimed the night!

The Wink That Claimed the Night – A Pub Tale of Pints, Winks & Surrender (Lyrics Below)

An acoustic neofolk retelling of the original jazz song “Double It Up, Barkeep!”, now reborn as a cheeky, bittersweet pub tale between two voices: a seasoned pourer and a younger lad just learning the cost of a wink.

This version trades sax for strings, swing for stomp, but keeps the heart of the tale alive.

Set in a tavern where laughter masks longing, and each pint comes with a story; This duet blends folk storytelling, lyrical banter, and warm harmonies in a timeless way.

🎙️ Covers welcomed.
Please credit the title and original adaptation note in any reposts or performances.

[LYRICS]

"Mind yourself, lad… some pours go straight to the heart."

I called for a top-up, pint near dry,
Me thoughts in knots, me throat gone shy.
She walked in smilin’, sharp as gin-
And blast me soul - she did me in.

Watch close, son, don’t leap so fast,
A wink like hers may never last.
They shine like stars, then fade to gray,
So guard your heart, or rue the day.

Top it again, mate, pour it stout!
Top it again, mate, no room for doubt
I’m swimmin’ deep, with no retreat—
A pint, a glance, swept off me feet.

She’s a riddle wrapped in cider spice,
With lips that burn and eyes that slice.
She blinked just once, and that was all-
I ain’t slept since the leaves did fall.

I carved her name where pints still lay
Thought I’d be hers, come break of day.
But now I pour for lads like you,
Who chase the thrill and call it true.

Top it again, mate, pour it neat!
Top it again, mate, can’t take defeat
She’s trouble wrapped in silk and song-
But, lad, I’d chase her all night long.

She danced like wind, all mischief made.
She’ll steal your tune and leave it played.
Her voice was soft, but sharp as slate.
And you’ll learn that - a wink too late.

Still I can’t quit, nor would I dare-
Her laugh still rings from halfway there.
She’s storms and song and bittersweet,
And I’ll go down with dancing feet.

Top it again, mate, pint or two!
Top it again, mate, she’ll make a fool of you
I know the tales, I’ve heard the spiel—
But some old aches are worth the feel.

"Aye lad… some pour their hearts, some spill 'em."

Top It Again, Mate – Neofolk Ballad in Duet (Lyrics Below)

A fast-paced folk duet adaptation of the original jazz number “Table for Two... and Trouble.”

In this cheeky, boots-thumping version, a male and female voice swap flirtation and fire across a dinner date that turns delightfully disastrous. Set to pub stomp and fiddle flair, it’s a ballad of charm, challenge, and spilled pints — where no plan survives the first course.

[LYRICS]

Careful where you sit, mate — some courses come with claws.

You walked in late, all lips and flame,
I stood up straight, forgot me name.
You ordered red, your eyes caught mine—
I knew right then, this ain’t just wine.

You lost your tongue, I cracked a grin,
You brought the nerves, I brought the sin.
You tugged your tie, I crossed my leg
You blinked twice fast, I made you beg.

Table for two... and trouble,
We toast, we tease, we double.
We sip, we scheme, we steal the show,
Who pays? Who stays? Ah, let it flow!

You tapped your heel, you tossed your hair,
This meal was war, not silverware.
You asked for spice, I braced for heat,
You stirred the pot, I missed my beat.

You tossed your jokes, I raised the stakes,
You slipped, I danced through all your fakes.
You called it charm, I called it game,
This supper came with no true name.

Table for two... and trouble,
We burn through rounds, no bubble.
We laugh too loud, the glasses clink,
No time to breathe, no time to think.

You brought the fire.
I brought the match.
You cracked my calm —
I struck the latch.
You called it fate.
I called it flair.
You kicked my chair.
You liked the dare.

I said dessert?
You said, "Why not?"
I spilled the pint,
You kissed the spot.
I called for more,
You leaned in close—
And down we went, from tease to toast.

Table for two... and trouble!
We danced, we dashed, no double.
The tab was steep, but worth the thrill—
We never split, but oh, we spill!

Next time... dine with your guard down, hun.
And don’t forget — dessert’s just begun.

Table for Two... and Trouble - Neo Folk Duet Adaptation (Lyrics Below)

A flirtatious folk ballad steeped in cheek, steam, and longing. Can’t Give Me Mornings Up tells the tale of a tongue-tied regular smitten by his daily barista, Polly. What begins as a cup of coffee turns into obsession—with hearts in the foam and wit in every swirl.

Crafted in the tradition of narrative British/Irish folk, this song blends charm, humor, and heart, perfect for sunrise rituals and quiet grins.

[LYRICS]

To Polly’s stall I came this morn,
For brew to soothe a night well-worn.
She says, “Same ol’, is it, luv?”
But in me head, ’twas “a bit o’ rough.”

And now I can’t give me mornings up.

This lass named Polly’s dear to me,
Though she plays daft and don’t quite see.
Her beans and steam she thinks I crave
Not Sugar and Spice the way I rave.

I says, “Let’s try a twist this day”
She raised a brow in cheeky way.
“A splash o’ cream? Or somethin’ tough?
Perhaps… a touch o’ muffin fluff?”

And now I can’t give me mornings up.

She leaned in soft, all cream and dare,
Says, “Sweet or bold?” with mischief rare.
Brushed me hand, then gave it off
I nodded dumb, near did I froth.

She swirls the milk with steady hand,
And draws a heart that ain’t so bland.
She grins and calls me “Sugarcup”
And now I can’t give me mornings up.

And now I can’t give me mornings up.

She draws a heart, then adds a kiss,
And asks, “Ye sure you ordered this?”
The foam may fade, but not this stuff
And now I can’t give me mornings up.

And now I can’t give me mornings up.

O Polly dear, don’t twist me knots,
I’d trade me boots for blushin’ spots.
This Polly lass, she loves her tease,
Like every swirl she pulls with ease.

She passed the cup, I took a sup,
One sharp wink near cracked me cup.
I mouthed a thanks, too dazed to stop ’er
By a country mile, she stirs me proper.

That’s Polly for you, lads; me fix,
A daily dose o’ steam and tricks.
Perhaps it’s time I flip the light
Sleep through morn and work at night!

She swirls the milk with steady hand,
And draws a heart that ain’t so bland.
She grins and calls me “Sugarcup”
And now I can’t give me mornings up.

Can’t Give Me Mornings Up (Lyrics Below)

A rowdy romp through a rainy afternoon and a warm flat with Maggie. This cheeky pub-folk ballad tells the tale of one lad’s unexpected… exposure. Sung in the classic storytelling tradition with fiddle, bodhrán, and a wink, it’s a singalong-ready yarn of flirtation, lost socks, and public shame. Best served with mates, mugs, and laughter.

Key Lyric:
Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

[LYRICS]

I came in wet with boots unlaced,
A drizzly noon, no time to waste.
A greet, a smile, and lace let slip,
Then Maggie winked and bit her lip.

Her flat was warm and smelled o’ toast,
Me coat hung damp beside the post.
She said, “Don’t mind the mess in here,”
Then tugged me shirt and drew me near.

Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

She brewed a pot around mid-day,
Then said, “It’s rude to dash away.”
The couch near tipped, the lights went dim—
Next thing I knew, I’d lost a limb.

I left me socks at Maggie’s place,
One near the bed, one by her vase.
She waved me off without a care
I never knew I’d gone out bare.

I crept away without me pride,
One boot in hand, the rest inside.
The postman stared, the baker grinned
Me toes were out, the tale was pinned.

Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

Now every round, the lads declare,
“She nicked his socks—and took the pair!”
The barman grins, “She runs the show
You’ve less than half yer kit below!”

Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

I left me socks at Maggie’s place,
One near the bed, one by her vase.
She waved me off without a care
I never knew I’d gone out bare.

I left me socks at Maggie’s place,
One near the bed, one by her vase.
She waved me off, I didn’t see
Was down to nothin’ ‘neath the knee.

“And I still ain’t got me bloody socks!”

Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

I Left Me Socks at Maggie’s Place (Lyrics Below)

I’ve always lived at the crossroads of music and poetry — where feeling becomes form, and melody turns memory into meaning. Whether it’s a lingering jazz note, a well-placed rhyme, or a shift in tempo that tells a deeper story, I’m drawn to that quiet magic where art reflects life with a little more style.

My roots are in classic music — the kind that doesn’t chase the moment but lingers with you long after the last note. Over time, that love expanded into poetry writing and jazz — especially the kind that swings, speaks, and smirks all at once. Jazz, to me, isn’t just a genre; it’s a personality. A conversation. A little tilt of the head and a grin that knows more than it says.

When I set out to create an album, it’s rarely just a collection of songs. I approach it like a personal playlist — one that drifts and flows as if the entire tracklist were one long, uninterrupted piece. Each track leans into the next, shifting mood, pace, or voice, but always carrying the same thread of feeling. I want you to listen the way I do — not as a shuffle of moments, but as a cinematic arc. One breath that lasts an hour.

Lyrically, my work is rooted in lived experience. Sometimes it’s obvious. Other times it’s just the skeleton of a memory, dressed up in wit, irony, or longing. I draw from real-life events, then let the poet in me twist, stretch, or sweeten them to taste. Depending on the tone of the album — playful, romantic, nostalgic, or something in between — I try to keep the emotional truth intact while giving it a fresh coat of creativity. A little humor where it fits. A deeper dive where it hurts.

My newest jazz album continues this tradition — short-lined swing tracks, conversational duets, and tongue-in-cheek storytelling. It’s an homage to late-night alleyway ballads, rooftop serenades, and train station goodbyes — all bound together with a sense of charm and cohesion. Each song is its own little scene, but together they tell a story — one you can revisit with each replay.

Thanks for stopping by my profile. I hope you find something that earns a spot on your repeat-play list — a melody, a lyric, or a moment that feels like it was written just for you.

When the Lass Maggie Tore Up the Place – A Pub Tale of Pints, Trouble and Grace

Dikheel Aldikheel

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