birth and dying

armies were marching
through the low lands in winter
when she ran through the fields
to her only love

bleak were the hedgerows
the fastnesses lonely
the wind took their whispering
and gave it the wilds

the wilds took their whispering
and made it a song
of dreams that are broken
and dreams yet to be

her footsteps returned
to the place of her growing
and she slept like an angel
though armies were marching