Living on roots by a caved in chapel,
Ringing a bell that no-one answers
Deep in the sun-starved heart of a wood.
And half of me is Thomas the Rhymer,
Follower of the trefoiled way
Down which the Queen of Elphame passes,
Hanging her stars in the Winter trees.
Thank you love for letting me flourish.
Yours is the forest through which the bell
Clatters for matins, and yours the path
That shows up dark in the frost-bound field.