When I was a girl, I had a favourite story
Of the meadowlark who lived where the rivers wind
Her voice could match the angels' in its glory,
But she was blind,
The lark was blind.
An old king came and took her to his palace,
Where the walls were burnished bronze and golden braid,
And he fed her fruit and nuts from an ivory chalice and he prayed
"Sing for me, my meadowlark
Sing for me of the silver morning.
Set me free, my meadowlark
And I'll buy you a priceless jewel,
And cloth of brocade and crewel,
And I'll love you for life if you will
Sing for me."
Then one day as the lark sang by the water
The god of the sun heard her in his flight
And her singing moved him so, he came and brought her
The gift of sight,
He gave her sight.
And she opened her eyes to the shimmer and the splendour
Of this beautiful young god, so proud and strong
And he called to the lark in a voice both rough and tender,