Wee dovey singing in tree,
The sun shall soon rise
Greater than love,
But not for me.

Red deer on the fray moors,
The winds embrace you
For you are rich,
But I am poor.

Wildflowers all bright in gang,
Good earth psalms you
Deep in rootings,
I never sang.

Dark feathered crow moaning,
I have suffered mean loss,
My truest love gone,
Now I must rove.