He has thought himself
To the end of things
To a cold ceder fire
In mind
you are beside him there
The house
Church yard and field

This his wind
Sways the grass to dance
To dance before him

Arrow ceder
Dogwood
Ash
Tipped bone
Antler
Stone and lash
Hear clanging of hoof and heel
The rattle by roan
On the white mountain
On the black hill shown

The beast
he plays his harp
He does deceive the hearts
False fires in the minds of men

This his wind
Sways the grass to dance
To dance before him