Tonight you wear windsong,
the shawl of the wayward ones,
swirling and dancing to tunes not yet sung.
Sweet magic flickers from fingers
whispering mysteries,
histories,
tragedies,
comedies...
Come with me hither
and thither and yonder,
for we may see wonders
and wander the mountainside
meandering 'neath
the rain-forest canopy,
tangling
and jungling,
with wildlife commingling.
Butterflies fluttering,
wee mammals skittering...
Glittering eyes in the darkness
shall follow us,
soulful and sorrowful,
watching us pass.
Tempt me not, tease me not,
gipsy-born troubador,
daughter of travellers, child of the wind.
Yours is the way of the badlands and river-banks,
stars are your canopy, bracken your bed.
I am a farmer's son, bound to the fields you see,
staunch as the oak-tree that shadows my home.
Give me that calloused hand
and I
will show you freedom
brighter than these
leaping flames whose sparks
send messages of hope
into the blackness.
Look deep into my eyes
and feel
the strength to wrench
those oaken roots from
cloying soil,
to dance with me
across the hillside's brow.
Begone with your windsong
your dancing, your trickery,
little you know of the power of love.
My rivers lie deep
in the heart of the fertile soil,
forefathers' bones are the bed where I lie.
With God may you go
when you leave here tomorrow,
I wish you good speed till I see you anon.
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