The saffron glow of the great north sky,
The old grey wolf and his haunting cry,
The aspen, hemlock, the spruce and pine,
Cool winds that savour of sweet red wine
The raven, the eagle, the heron and hawk,
Soft green valleys and smooth white rock,
Eternal mountains, afire in the sun,
Don’t let me live by the sword and gun
The evening call of the lonely loon,
He adds his song to the owl’s sad tune,
Oh take me back to my green thorn tree,
Back to my earth just to live with thee.
Back to the rivers, the hills, the deer,
Surrender my knife, surrender my spear,
To walk once more in the cold white snow,
Living and learning and trying to grow.
Here in the mud, the blood, and the spew,
BAttle grounds silently mantled in dew,
Where lonely vigil of velvet night,
Reveals its sadness in dawn’s pale light.
Away from the terror, the death and the pain,
The sick, the wounded, the graves of the slain,
Oh how I long for my own dear shore
Beseeching the face of the one I adore
The honeysuckle, the hum of the bee
The trout, the pheasant, the Kokanee
The scream of the gull, and the nighthawk’s cry
Holy Creator, don’t let me die
But Lord, should I stumble in battle and fall
Hang my helmet in Heaven’s great hall,
And lay me quiet neath the Green thorn tree,
Caressed by the earth that once bore me.
The safron glow of the Great North Sky,
The old grey wolf and his haunting cry,
The aspen, hemlock, the spruce and pine,
Cool winds that savour of sweet red wine.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
The saffron glow of the great north sky,
The old grey wolf and his haunting cry,
The aspen, hemlock, the spruce and pine,
Cool winds that savour of sweet red wine
The raven, the eagle, the heron and hawk,
Soft green valleys and smooth white rock,
Eternal mountains, afire in the sun,
Don’t let me live by the sword and gun
The evening call of the lonely loon,
He adds his song to the owl’s sad tune,
Oh take me back to my green thorn tree,
Back to my earth just to live with thee.
Back to the rivers, the hills, the deer,
Surrender my knife, surrender my spear,
To walk once more in the cold white snow,
Living and learning and trying to grow.
Here in the mud, the blood, and the spew,
BAttle grounds silently mantled in dew,
Where lonely vigil of velvet night,
Reveals its sadness in dawn’s pale light.
Away from the terror, the death and the pain,
The sick, the wounded, the graves of the slain,
Oh how I long for my own dear shore
Beseeching the face of the one I adore
The honeysuckle, the hum of the bee
The trout, the pheasant, the Kokanee
The scream of the gull, and the nighthawk’s cry
Holy Creator, don’t let me die
But Lord, should I stumble in battle and fall
Hang my helmet in Heaven’s great hall,
And lay me quiet neath the Green thorn tree,
Caressed by the earth that once bore me.
The safron glow of the Great North Sky,
The old grey wolf and his haunting cry,
The aspen, hemlock, the spruce and pine,
Cool winds that savour of sweet red wine.
By Daveen Huggett
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