The valley was green
But greener the shadow
That cast across it each afternoon
The ship's rocking felt safe
But safer in shallows
I held my little sister and sang songs she knew
But soon we'd all forgotten
Every rhyme and melody
We'd carried from Scotland
And the green braided fern wreathes
Dress the anchors like funeral garlands
We'd meet under the trees
The ash and the rowan
We'd lie on our backs and look up through the leaves
When my friend turned to me
And asked, where are you going?
I couldn't speak, and I struggled to breathe
But soon we'd all forgotten
Every friend and family
We'd left back in Scotland
And the green braided fern wreathes
Dress the anchors like funeral garlands
Now who has the valley?
And who chases the shadow?
And who tends the trail to the rowan tree grove?
And who will revive
The earth that's been fallowed?
And what will I do with the things I've learned to grow?
Great Mercy and Pardon
Wait beyond this vanity
And in no valley in Scotland
And the green braided fern wreathes
Will become ground beneath a garden
The clouds are American cotton
From this starboard balcony
The sea, the rough wool from Scotland
And the green braided fern wreathes
Will become ground beneath a garde

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS