Singing Grass - Wovenhand

He has thought himself

To the end of things

To a cold ceder fire

In mind

You are beside him there

The house

The church yard and field

This his wind

Sways the grass to dance

To dance before him

Arrow ceder

Dogwood

Ash

Tipped bone

Antler

Stone and lash

Hear clanging of hoof and heel

The rattle by roan

On the white mountain

On the black hill shown

The beast

He plays his harp

He does deceive the hearts

False fires in the minds of men

This his wind

Sways the grass to dance

This his wind

Sways the grass to dance

To dance before him