I found this little shard of song, while wandering the shores of the Dreaming Sea.
It lay tangled in a wrack of questions, abandoned by the lisping waves among the pebbles.One day I might take it up, make polite inquiries, and see if it will answer. In the meantime, let it sit here on this metaphorical window sill to catch the light and glitter enigmatically, humming quietly to itself.
“The morning is dawning.
It’s cold but it’s fair.
There’s the scent of the heather
Adrift on the air.
There’s the softest of breezes
Blowing out of the west.
There’s the valley below
Where I stand on the crest.
T’is the last day my footsteps
Will grace this good earth,
The last day I’ll spend
In the land of my birth.
My heart should be heavy
To leave home and kin,
But my spirit, it soars
Like a lark on the wind.”
Wol's River of Stones 