'Pon a hill a green bird sat

Her owlets in a green felt hat

Her fortune was a wish.



Ambassador a heron blue

Rode on the dawn with kegs of dew

He said his tales were true



A ragged youth with eyes of glass

Was seen dancing upon the grass

His words were winged and wise



His shaven skull he etched with ease

The silent scriptures of the trees

His prophecies were You.