Tune: “Butterflies Lingering over Flowers”
Parring in the Early Morning
The crow feels restless, startled by moonlight,
The waterclock drips out as later grows the night,
The windlass lifts water from the well painted gold.
She wakes me with her beaming eyes so bright,
I find the pillow wet with tears and cold.
I take her hand in mine when the frosty wind blows
And her soft-lift hair on her forehead flows.
I’m loath to leave
But it will further grieve
To hear her bid adieu.
She can see from upstairs the stars’ Plough in the sky
While I am faraway, my mantle damp with dew,
And hear cocks’ crow arouse some echoes far and nigh.