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