Syd Barrett's love poem to Viv, his 'little twig', up for auction

It is a few scribbled lines of poetry and a simple sketch in black ink on a piece of paper, composed in Cambridge in the mid-1960s by an aspiring painter and musician for his girlfriend of the time. But it is no simple doodle. Its author was the late Roger "Syd" Barrett, who became a founder of Pink Floyd and enjoyed massive success before suffering a drug-induced mental breakdown.

Barrett died last year at 60 after spending decades as a semi-recluse in his home town, but is still revered as one of the most influential figures in rock music.

The poem was written for 19-year-old Viv Brans, who in 1965 had a relationship lasting several months with Barrett. Now a 61-year-old grandmother, she is auctioning the poem, which has been dear to her for four decades. "Now Roger's gone, I can let it go because it's just sitting around doing nothing," she said. "I've still got the words and sentiments." In its minimalist descriptions of Ms Brans's clothes and dancing, the small figures of the guitar-toting pop group playing under the glitter ball, the poem and the sketch capture the mid-1960s era before the Summer of Love.

The manuscript is to be auctioned by Cheffins in Cambridge later this month. Barrett always considered himself an artist, rather than a musician, although in his later years he destroyed many of his works. A sale by his family of some of his surviving paintings and possessions raised more than £120,000 last year to fund a bursary for art students.

Speaking exclusively to The Independent on Sunday, Ms Brans said the "lovely little poem" contained "perfect observations" of her behaviour and clothes. She said: "The drawing shows me dancing and waving my arms in the air, wearing dark round sunglasses. He gave me these carefully wrapped in tissue paper, as were any little gifts he gave me."

Ms Brans left for the US to become an au pair. By the time she returned in 1969, the Barrett she knew had become erratic and drug addled and left Pink Floyd.

Towards the end of his life Barrett was a familiar figure in Cambridge. Ms Brans, who still lives there, said: "I used to see him around the town. I met him once shopping, but he never seemed to want to speak to anybody. I saw him once on a day I knew was his birthday and I went over and said 'Happy birthday, Roger'. He just said 'Thanks' and shuffled off."

A chapter in verse '... they flatter her madly'

Little twig isn't big

To you, but she is

To me.

But however I don't like it

When she makes faces.

And she seldom talks

When we go to places

And meet people

And sit around.

But she prances at dances

Gets crushes, takes chances

With boys, wears a hat

No shoes, and they flatter her

Madly. What of that?

Neat, maroon, blue and white

Lace and chord, velvet. Might

Even keep her coat on if its right.

Next week

All change

To purple

Or black

Perhaps