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The well doesn't always run dry
The spring at its heart
still beats true
When the soil is at peace
and the clouds hang
high and whispy
in the sky
There isn't a carrion
to be seen
or a bee's sting
-felt-

We are the God-children
the offspring of the Sun
and the wildflower folk
We sing our prairie ditties
and dance the Irish jig
on lavender and clover
Heather and orange blossoms
decorate our hair
and our eyes foreshadow
the future
and the end of our happy kingdom
For it will-
All will come to pass
with the east winds
and the winter rains