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