-
Green hills laugh and sunbeams chase
the shadows from the dell
In forest fair the birds they sing
for lady sweet Galadriel
And all this day I walk the woods
in search of song or dance
No gift of these the trees reveal
to succour my entrance
Then by a path and by a brook
I hear them softly crying
The folk of bright and faerie blood
who everywhere are dying
No witch's curse no tongue of flame
these green woods do despoil
But men and less with swords they work
their dark and wretched toil
In dancing streams they laugh and wash
bloodied shirt and bloodied arms
With not a gaze on lifeless lips
who sing no more alarms
Yet on the paths and by the brooks
I hear them softly crying
The folk of bright and faerie blood
who everyday are dying
- 30th January 1996
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