It is eighteen years to the day
In lamb fields, on dotted slopes
I see a playground, an ant-scatter of children
How do we know we aren't already dead?
Oh I have danced the sky as feathers
The life that I have is all that I have
The Farmer's Bride
There was a steady wind and the sky was pale
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the leaning trees
This is my country!
It must have been too cold for him, his soul gave out
Love's dances, Love's retreats, advances
And I was green and carefree, lying in soft fields
He with footstep heavy, her with sunny hair
When I was thirteen or so. green
But one by one we must move on, through the valley of pain