The Wishing Tree.

On crimson skies we dry our eyes, So far below in forests guise, And payments made as tears do fade. At the foot of the wishing tree. A place of secrets and wooded spells, Where prying eyes can not befell, And arms so strong aloft and calm, Will take thee far from all mans harm. Then as we stand in lowly form, And breathe the breath of a misty dawn. The darkness of our uncertainty Is wiped away by the wishing tree. And all at once all life and form, Is new like a babe when first it is born. Then all that was dark like a river of fear. Is now in our hearts so pure and so clear. As the heart of the wishing tree.