I'm in a field, of heather swaying
I have a heart of promises full
a floral garland adorns my tresses
whenever the piper calls to me

we're gathered there, the lass and lasses
barefoot and brown of cheek are we
holding hands and dancing gaily
whenever the piper calls to me

my step has slowed and my face is wrinkled
the red of my youth has left my hair
but I am dancing in heathered meadows
whenever the piper calls to me

 

 

*be my guest*

Credits and reserves.
Copyright 1999 Michigan, Sonya Reid. All rights reserved.