The Scribe
A hedge of trees surrounds me.
A blackbird's lay sings to me.
Above my lined booklet
The trilling birds chant to me.
In a grey mantle from the top of bushes
The cuckoo sings.
Verily—may the Lord shield me!—
Well do I write under the greenwood.
A blackbird's lay sings to me.
Above my lined booklet
The trilling birds chant to me.
In a grey mantle from the top of bushes
The cuckoo sings.
Verily—may the Lord shield me!—
Well do I write under the greenwood.
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