White cotton barrels of winter lay o’er
The land
‘Till the frosty white hills are shorn
And after the barrels have all rolled away
Shall then may he come to a fair land to stay
Wand’ring o’er valley ‘twixt earth ‘n sky
At night
With a heather bed o’er to lie
Yet, ‘neath the fervent dance o’ yon’ Sun
Shall then he return from the journey begun
To where is he wand’ring and why does he rome
In a land
That’s so very far from his home
And ‘neath the pale hornèd moon’s shimm’ring mane
Shall e’er he come back to his homeland again
©2004 Carolynn Anderson. All Rights Reserved.