What a creepy poem.
“In the meadow where the willow weeps”
Over heighty mountain, under dallow dale
Over sparkling fountain, under shallow shale
The whisper speaker, secret keeps
By the twilight pond, in the narrow deeps.
Over Yorkling hillside, under fieldings fair
Over corkling broadbrook, and the markets there
Past the shudd’ring mires, where the water seeps
Through the thrashing thicket, where the creeper creeps
Under thunder skies, where the storm never sleeps.
And go now to the slidings, where the tibby goat leaps.
Just you come to the meadow, where the willow weeps.
Yes, do come to the meadow, where the willow weeps.
Leave there your cares, your sadd’nings, your sorrows
Forget yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows
Abandon your hopes, your dreams, and desires
Lie down, close your eyes, and allow what transpires.
You needn’t be worried, or have any care
You’ve finally made it, to the meadow, somewhere
And if they come searching, don’t shout and don’t cry
Keep quiet, stay still, and allow them to die.
You’ve been through so much, you’ve been brave and so bold
You’ve heard such great tales—now of you tales are told!
And lie you here softly, soundly asleep
In the time-hardened grasp of the roots that go deep
By the twilight pond, under mountains old
Under storm-grey skies, over fields of gold
With the secret keeper, and the goat that leaps
In the silent meadow where the willow weeps.