in the silver morning hollow

trembling and getting old

smelling burnt oil of heaven

about ten years, too big to hold



she don't get up when I come into the room

she don't run through the fields anymore



built a fire in the kitchen

made her bed by a stove

took a walk to the graveyard

but she didn't want to go



she don't worry all them murders of crows

even though they was always out of reach



she don't get up when I come into the room

she don't run through the fields anymore