The whisper of silver
leaves under wide skies
In ancient tongues
asking me
Where are your dreams
now
Wild lass, wild lass
Only wreathed as silver
strands in your hair
The willows are calling
me
Back to the water lands
Windmills to the sea
Where river and sand
flat and blue martins ply
Under the old cobbles
A shore of brick and
stone
In memory of a place
once we called home
Where are your dreams
now
Wild lass, wild lass
Only wreathed as silver
strands in your hair
Lost to the pine wind
in the wild sea air
All your dreams
travelled
A gathering storm
But your heart is a
vaulted cathedral where angels sing
And love, ripe red and
burnished
Beats to the steady
drum
And here is hope, the
living prayer, unfurled to the wind
The whisper of silver
leaves under wide skies
In ancient tongues
asking me
Where are your dreams
now
Wild lass, wild lass
And I shout into the
returning tide
Of the mud and salt and
iron hard bone
Of barrel wood, frayed
rope
And shells turned to
stone
Of the stained glass
and old songs
And cornfields' ripe
gold
Where river and sand
flat and blue martins ply
Under the old cobbles
A shore of brick and
stone
Now memories of a place
once we called home
