Sunday, 25 April 2010

Bartley Sunrise (1985)

The Stones at Bartley Sunrise are bathed in a yellow golden light
And all around the river reflects the scene that's all about
Rustling sounds and holes in banks, sudden small bright eyes
Blinking to scurry back inside
A heron slowly rises here
Flapping through the mist
As the morning light grows stronger
A starving thrush pokes it's beak into
The soft and waiting ground
And pulls out a worm

Grey and tall he stands partly obscured
By the dark line of the trees
It is he who tends the glades
Watches the trees, or dances in the breeze
He who does the work he does
And sleeps hidden in the leaves
Or chases maidens about
He clasps hold of the branch above his
Curly head of tousled mane
Swings himself above
Silently we turn away, not even knowing where to go
Is this any way to treat a friend?

The old church by the river catches fire-diamonds of early morning light
It sparkles on the weather vane and on the windows, it casts away the night
And in the day the boys will come to throw stones at the water
Or lie in the sweet smelling grass
This fine day we woke up early
Come to see the rising sun
Come to see the faerie dawn chorus
We came across the fields to stand here
See our footprints mark the way

A cat he stretches lazily on the grave of old Simon John
Uncurls a claw, some memory of his chasing dreams still curling in his eyes
Something is amiss, the cat's world does not correspond, "but do not worry"
Says the voice above.
"You and I are just like a hand in a glove, we are one another"
"What a weird night this has been" thinks the cat in his cat's mind
Quickly the subject is changed
"Must find some fish to eat,
Maybe a shrew will do.
Think I'll go look down that lane"

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