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 fastnesses

the hedgerows 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