Songbook II

[Dandeli]

  

  

Felt it back then, I did in the den of the maker who lost her way,    

            A little crow's croons, a silent brood, lamenting with no parlay,

  Not long did it last, cast soon to the past, once again stowed away,      

But by the tick of fate, t'would seem it would return, rising from it's lay,     

   Unfurling a memory, long and winding, reminding me of colder days,

   

  

What is it all for? Why do we go on? A conundrum that sees me deign!     

          Stilling this heart, slow but replete, worrying about all come what may,

At some point it stops, not daring to bother, driving me largely insane,        

          The valleys will move, kingdoms will fall, even if one might save the day,

But isn't it foolish? Aren't you content? Why is it right now it overspills?       

  

   

        Screams shrill, bloodied, bruised, bitten - I saw it all, what a ruse!

Wintry attrition is stifling and sad, yet there lay even loss in Spring,     

            Am I apart of this? This delicate picture, shifting out of my grasp?

Fickle, answers wrested from my hands, now a wish not to outlast,

Where this sight falters, amiss as it might be, I wish to say:

I want to take it into my hands; the sway of fate, and the bleak day.

     

Yet there is a little bird, a silent song,

Singing now, with no parlay:

     

You know that is wrong,

You know that is wasteful!

    

Accept it all,

Come what may!