White Angel - Birch Book

Traveler’s tears wounded memories

Hand’s full of days, these were the ways

You looked for home

Pale paths change marking out the way

Into the grace of day

Traveler’s tears, wounded memories

One hadn full of days

One hand on the cold hard ground

It’s as they say:

It’s coldest before the dawn

As the cold hard ground

Would signify

White Angel, White Angel, give me light

I have passed such a long time

In the cold dark night

My bruised and burning eyes

Await their dream of morning

Put your hand to the plow

Dry your traveler’s tears

Lick your wounds

Dress your memories

In woodbettany

It’s as you’d own:

It’s coldest before the dawn

And in your bones

You know the way back home

My bruised and burning eyes

Await their dream

Of morning