The Lay of the Singing Willows

Be you at rest and lay you down

For weary has the day now grown,

The sun does sink into the sea,

Where all things then to end will be.

And have they then in future passed,

For nothing´s ever built to last,

Shall they then end there with us all,

From rising spring return to fall.

And yet there is so much to tell

Where wandering dreams and visions dwell

And evermore to speak and say

Of legend and myth, song and lay.

Hearken now, far minded thinking,

Ever thoughtful further sinking,

Deeper into softest pillows,

Dreaming under singing willows.

Listen, for here is to be told

The tales of war and peace of old,

Fall and rise of many kingdoms,

Prophecies and ancient wisdoms.

Of secrets that were lost and found,

Of words that were in magic bound,

On towers high, in stonehalls deep,

In darkest woods, on grey cliffs steep.

Lie here in our arms and dream

Of things that are not as they seem

And yet they might and might not be,

You look upon and do not see.

You can not tell, and who might know,

If these things are or are not so?

But do not think about such things,

Listen, for the old willow sings.

Of magic and of poetry,

Of lights under the partytree,

Of voices, joining in a song,

When still the starlit night was long.

She sings of dawn and evening,

Of winter and of blooming spring,

She sings of times when all began,

When luck and fate together ran.

So many things have passed away,

Such thoughts were lost, went far astray,

Forgotten were the stones of old,

The ancient myths and halls of gold.

But still remains the memory

Of legends and of victory,

Of ancient kings and noble lords,

Of fair queens and magicwords.

And ever here are to be hold,

The songs and tales shall here be told,

Where wandering dreams and visions dwell,

Of younger days and stars we tell.

© Maike Bodry 2010

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