Rooted to my land a thousand years, aye,

more I’ve watched the strand where men fled to cry

their dreams to the gulls above. Blood and tide

mingled free, whose pull bade each man confide

mad, blinding thoughts. I stopped and list, my trunk

grew black and gnarled by each sin sung, ship sunk.

One thousand years of their plans and their fears

blending light with love to deny the cares

that beset them. They came to know my face,

dreamt I, like a fae, saw the future. Lie

I could not, nor speak the truth with the grace

of voice. Sung on bleak hymns of wind, they died.

So, lady blithe, the axe from your back break,

and end my thousand years of song with “wake!”

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