Moon of the berries is waning to clay
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Bavol the wind leap on the whale's way
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Sing for Veshengro, oak ash and may
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I will not flash the day glance on the strong
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king's shield
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Nor yet the moon glance on the frightened man
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Bring her sweet peace ere she rests on the
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breast of God
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With the nutrnegs and oak-apples of her rosary
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That counts the praying sand
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Who cradles earth and water in the hollow of her hand
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I was a wasp on a nettled hill
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Ten thousand brothers in a nest of fungus paper
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And every sopping apple held its cider sweet for my thin tongue
|
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I was a swineherd at the court of Fionn
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I wore the coat of patches with Jalal beneath the stars
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Sang at the black court of Ain
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I baked sweet pastries for the Quenn of Spain
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I hid my alchemy beneath the stone of lies
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Burned at the post my boiling brain
|
Made craters of my eyes
|
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The mystery of history it is not revealed
|
We hear not clear but only with hope and fear
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And the pomp of crime, and the pride of the time
|
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I was a monk repelled by a woman's smell
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I sailed in Darwin's ship, a mouse that gnawed the grain
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Trapped by the cook on one dark day
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I have spoken with the Thames in much sweeter times
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And with the Medway where she rolls her waves
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The snake-weed is hissing the wind of the morn
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The mountains are mouthing where Albion is born
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The light rays are gathering where Horus is shown
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Sing for Veshengro. oak ash and thorn.
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|
-----------------
|
Veshengro
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| The Incredible String Band |
