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