Blue moonlight on the hawthorn leaves,
Has the wind a song for the soul that grieves?
What
are the weird wild tales it tells,
Of broken hearts and wizard spells?
Where
is the song in the thunders’ roll,
To soothe my spirit and enchant my soul?
I
plead for a tale in the soft moonlight
But the wind dances into the mists of the night
And whispers a song to the hawthorn tree
With a lightness of heart that is foreign to me.
‘The
wind has no song for the soul that grieves’.
Says the moonlight smiling on the hawthorn leaves
Freda
Davis 2009 |
