Maya
The dust of the rivers does murmur and weep Hard and sharp laughter that cuts to the bone Ah, but ever face within your face does show Going gladly now to give himself his own
And twelve yellow willows shall fellow the shallows Small waves and thunder be my pillow Upon the gleaming water two swans that swim And every place shall be my native home
The east gate like a fortress dissolve it away The west gate like a prison O come break it down Island I remember living here Wandering beneath the empty skies
In time her hair grew long and swept the ground And seven blackbirds carried it out behind It bore the holy imprint of her mind As green-foot slow she moved among the seasons
The great man, the great man, historians his memory Artists his senses, thinkers his brain Labourers his growth Explorers his limbs And soldiers his death each second And mystics his rebirth each second
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