|From the book The Wild Rose|
|Legends and Fantasies|
(1976 - 1978)
|Water: The Peasant Woman|
|You are the lullaby over the old cradle, |
where children nannied children,
an egg with a pecked out shell
and the spirit and dove of their nights,
a turtle-dove, shut in fast,
a serf of a wicked miller’s wife –
but you tie the cage up to the branches
and feed bread and groats.
The doves fly in the sky,
the child sleeps and the house grows,
and all like a golden boat
the mistress water flows to us.