Little crow, little crow, won't you sit here with me Tell me about the world 'neath your wings Tell me what your dark eyes have seen When you venture on into the night I've seen a black dog, with a howl like a keening A ghost's lullaby and a dirge for the living So I circled above him and I lent him my singing Then I ventured on into the night I have seen riders from under the hill A host of fae hunters, wild and fell And even at daybreak I can hear the horn still So I ventured on into the night I've seen a woman washing clothes at the ford Clothes fit for a peasant, and fit for a lord And I love her and fear her and she'll not be ignored When I venture on into the night Little crow, little crow, won't you sit here with me (By the light of the moon) Tell me about the world 'neath your wings (Where we know it is safe) Tell me what your dark eyes have seen (In this world and the next) When you venture on into the night

Sweet spring rain, come again, come again 'Til the fire in the mountains burns low Sweet spring rain, come again, come again To the shadow of the hills I know Oh rain, wash my sorrow down your rivers Carry it out to the sea Bathe my heart in your tides of salt and brine And carry it back to me Sweet spring rain, come again, come again 'Til the fire in the mountains burns low Sweet spring rain, come again, come again To the shadow of the hills I know Oh rain, break my fury like the flame Shatter my wrath and my rue Turn these ashes deep into the earth And grow from them something new Sweet spring rain, come again, come again 'Til the fire in the mountains burns low Sweet spring rain, come again, come again To the shadow of the hills I know Oh rain, come down upon my altar Bless this hidden heart of mine Feed these joys as they sleep beneath the earth And grow them like flowers on the vine Sweet spring rain, come again, come again 'Til the fire in the mountains burns low Sweet spring rain, come again, come again To the shadow of the hills I know Sweet spring rain, come again, come again 'Til the fire in the mountains burns low Sweet spring rain, come again, come again To the shadow of the hills I know

The river hears the willow's song As they mourn their lover, dead and gone A song of loss, on roots borne deep And of love to make the willows weep Five hundred years since Strongbow's claim On Ireland's soil green and fair A willow drank from a running river bank And in verdant boughs a spirit sang Their limbs were long, their hair was wild Their song as sweet as summer wine And ever far abroad they sought For a voice to sing in time with theirs There was a woodman tall and proud And as he walked he sang aloud With a voice as golden as the sun Through the dappled woods where rivers run And at his side he wore an axe With an iron blade as cold as ice For timber was his stock and trade For to warm the hearth and gird the hall And as he strode through dappled woods With golden voice and axe of iron He stopped and drank by a running river bank And he spied the spirit's willow tree He brought his iron axe to bear To hew the trunk and branches fair But as the axe bit wooden flesh He heard the spirit cry in pain His blood ran cold at the spirit's cry And he tore his axe from wounded trunk And cast it down on the running river bank Though a shard of iron within remained At last he saw the spirit's face And he swore an oath on bended knee "I will bury my axe on the running river bank" "And I'll never harm another tree." They stood together through the spring And wove their songs o'er willow wood The voices healed the wounded tree And their love like sap and longing grew They fastened hands under summer sun Ancient wose and mortal man And he told them tales of the wild grey world And they sang him songs of root and stone When winter howled like wind and wolf They lay beneath the willow's arms Sheltered from the ice and snow Their dreams untroubled by the frost A year and a day since first they met A message came from the woodsman's clan Of nine year's war and family slain At Moyry Pass near Armagh town The woodsman rose in ruinous wrath And swore an oath of blood and war "I'll bury my axe in an English heart On Ulster soil with clan and kin" The spirit read his shadow'd fate And grieving bade him follow his oath Said they I cannot follow you Though ever my heart will walk with yours Again the woodsman claimed his axe Once buried deep in forest soil And still it gleamed like iron and ice With a luster forged of sorrow's toil The woodsman fought at Kinsale siege And red was the earth with his axe's art And red was the sun, at the battle's end When an English arrow found his heart And in the dappled forest green The spirit knew their love was slain For the shard of iron in their tree Was shattered like a fragile dream Now the river hears the Willow's song As they mourn their lover dead and gone A song of loss on roots borne deep And of love to make the willows weep

Winter buds are wanting red On branches lorn of leaves now dead Dreaming roots are buried deep Stone will slumber, earth will sleep Here is raven, gone is lark These are the things that I found in the dark A ring of iron, a ring of gold A ring of silver to remind me of home A locket forged 'neath emerald skies On an anvil of dreams by a hammer of lies A promise always leaves its mark These are the things that I found in the dark A burning star, a gentle moon A blanket of night on a silver loom A hallowed hall of spirits sworn Each unfallen tear to mourn A beating heart, a thrumming harp These are the things that I found in the dark

I dreamed I was a green willow tree The song of the river surrounding me I heard every secret from the spring to the sea I dreamed I was a green willow tree And then I awoke I dreamed I was an oak struck by lightning A tower of strength sundered by flame 'Tis a fool who sees nothing but loss in the breaking A dreamed I was an oak struck by lightning And then I awoke I dreamed I was a hedge of blackthorn Growing to honor the lost and the lorn A keeper of magic that from sorrow is born I dreamed I was a hedge of blackthorn And then I awoke I awoke to the sound of the river around me To the scent of the ashes of a towering tree To sloe-berries growing protected by thorn I awoke to a garden and I'll walk among her