Wending through the willows,
A song upon the air.
It spirals and it frolics,
A lust upon its breath.
The words crave for purchase,

For ears to pour their course.
But silence is its partner as it dances on the ford.
Wending through the willows,
It maddens and ferments,

Wasp-like for a moment,
Then dirge of cricket legs,
Demure like a mayfly,
Then wispish as the breeze.
The song unwinds, forgets itself, and settles on the stream.
Wending through the willows,
A woodsman cups his ear.

On his palm an echo,
It sparks and tumbles in.
There it lights a bonfire,
Song burns and is reborn.
The woodsman hums it brightly, as it's loosed upon the air.

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