Leaves of the Belgae

The fragile leaves are rustling,
upon the barren field,
the laughter of lost children
to sorrows never revealed.
All through the blackened forest
bearing bygone rhymes,
the mounds and hills still sobbing
the woods still wonder why.

Sleep, sleep, sleep.
Lost child,
to your bygone lullabies
that mothers sing,
through land and stone.
Sleep, sleep,
find your way home.

Memories of caressing brows
soft and new and kind,
of warm milk and tucking in,
and songs of sweet goodnight.
Of days cut short
and dreams long lost,
and loves stolen away,
the fragile leaves are crying,
the song they softly play.

Sleep, sleep, sleep,
sleep tired hearts,
to the songs your mother,
sung in the dark.
May lost memories
find their wind,
and sleep your sadness,
home again.

So long you wait
each passing day,
never knowing why.
So long with hope
for some return,
for one who’d know and cry.
For one who hears your tale,
to unbind these hearts that weep,
to unbury sunken treasures,
that your memories did keep.

Oh the fragile leaves are dancing,
from trees whose roots reach deeps,
into the graves of your memories,
but soon they will not weep.

The laughter of lost children,
echoes in the dark,
the lost caress,
and stolen rest,
in the woods they left their marks.
In the silence of the sadness,
along the glens and streams,
echoes of her lullabies,
through fields and woods of dreams.

Sleep, sleep, sleep,
sleep bonny lads,
to lullabies long lost,
sleep sleep sleep.
tired ghost,
sleep old tender heart.
Mother has come home
my love,
see her reaching hand,
sleep, sleep, sleep,
sweet child,
sleep old tired land.