'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.