While My Storm Rages By

And softly again rises the raged storm In the fields of wheat and rye There is no home for butterflies But a falcon winds by When the swings and the baby’s cradle Rocks with lost lullabies’ Dimmed and dimmed the luminous light Candles and lanterns wane in the night Amongst hundreds if not thousands days of light Sleeps one darkened night. Whilst after the storm there is not much to gather Nor to fret, but much to mourn with all populace dead There in the pastures One lost lamb of the thousands Runs the distance in search of home. And a river winds in two to trod a million ways with the fishes untroubled by the storm of the land The cotton from the plants move so With the wind on its wayward path As my storm rages by all farmlands in black and blue in moments past turns to dust.