The song is sung on hearth and
heath
To remind the sleeper to sleep
deep,
And to stay beneath the sod
Whilst, on top, us mortals plod
Dreams of ice bears fill a mind
That moves world wide and glacier
slow
And holds inside a growing force
That helps the seeds and corn to
grow
Once human fingers rooted be
And once wet eyes now knot each
tree
And hands that once a valley
saved
Do waft the wind, propel the
waves
She knows, as such a girl will
always do,
That he has not gone, but moved
on,
And that the Ravens, though they
caw and chirp
Their words and secrets in her
ear
(a surprise to the uninitiated
who wandered up the lane
for milk or eggs, sent there
by friends with sense of humour
and not a little malice),
still owe allegiance to the
valley Lord.
She wonders if they tell on her,
Pass messages to some strange
beyond.
But when she asks them,
Direct and honest like,
How he does and what he does,
They do the cawing bird stupid
thing,
Then bring her little gifts,
Perhaps condolences,
Or perhaps just mischief or
distraction.
This does not please her,
So she has stopped asking,
As what a Raven thinks is
treasure,
Will not bring a quaker girl much
pleasure
He does hear
Of course he hears, he hears it
all,
He hears each acorn drop
And each web tremble with each
fly’s passing,
He hears each voice and birdcall,
And as humanity occasionally
returns,
Hears voices he once remembered
And the soil cracks at his fond
smiles,
And sand dunes shift at his brows
furrow,
His hand move beneath the earth
And cracks open seed pods,
Bursts wide corms ,
Send new flowers to decorate the
paths
Upon which his little sister
walks,
To make her path and mastery
If not easier
Then one of magic and of beauty.
So when her power is on her
And her time is getting near
She walks about her daily chores,
And behind her,
Nothing but flowers
Crocus, snowdrops,
wild magnolias,
and of course
sweet Lilies of the valley
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