The ladies of Ashfield, they number in three
Ladies Meden, Maun and Idle they be

In a sorry state
Is Lady Idle of late
Her spring once a marsh 
Now a housing estate
East under concrete 
Her waters migrate
From pond amoung houses
Along litterd brook to her fate
To disappear under the road
Down a neglected grate
And emerge next to asda 
At a trickling rate
Onwards under the ground
To the boating lake donate
Her waters press forward
Then with the Maun’ s they conflate

Oh Lady Maun, 
Mother of this land
Nourishing the greenery 
With your waters so grand
From your spings by the Mam 
To your sacrifice on the moor
Your love for your people 
Is clean fresh and pure
Queen of the green wood
Sovereign of Sherwood
The spirit of your water 
Is thick in our blood

Beautiful Maiden of flowers and spring
On the banks of the Meden can be heard to sing
The notes in the air and rythm of the splashes 
Accompany her song of love and of rashness
From the end of wood to the moor with Maun
Her beauty is such it eclipses the dawn
She is the goddess of spring of life and desire
The river of youth and passion and fire.

Where they conflate
The Idle becomes great
Her flow and her waters
A much better state
Rushing to the Trent
At an incredible rate
Aligned with the Mam
On a magical date
No more to stagnate
Our lives to hydrate
To our Goddess of Idle
Our love we restate

To the ladies of Ashfield I offer this vow
To fight for the life of this land somehow
To pass on the lessons you have given to me
With honesty, integrity and to do it for free
To stand up to injustice and the greed of man
To work for balance and harmony any way that I can.
To help others to see your enchantment at hand
And before it is to late, learn to love our land