nenosronhir

The ghost of a dryad haunts an old wooden schooner 
She clings to the mainmast like mist in the trees 
Mourning his death after so many years 
She weaves her grief into the breeze 

Singing 
Blow, you ocean wind, blow 
Blow this ship back to the forested shore 
For these foamy green hills are but saltwater desert 
And I yearn to see woodland once more 

And sometimes at full moon, the sailors can see her 
Her misty grey figure glides silently past 
But when the storms howl, you can hear her heart weeping 
And see her blue glow round the mast 

Crying 
Blow, you ocean storm, blow 
Blow this ship back to the forested shore 
For your wet whipping winds bring no life to my lost love 
And I yearn to see woodland once more 

Warm summer breezes remind Pitys’ daughter 
Of seasons and cent-u-ries spent merged with her pine 
When sap of his heartwood ran warm with her laughter 
Her voice in his branches entwined 

Whispering 
Grow, sweet conifer, grow 
Reach for the sun, leave the green earth behind 
For whatever happens, my tallest of princes 
I never shall leave my white pine. 

On the deck of the schooner, surrounded by ocean 
The towering mast stands, so lifeless yet strong 
And the ghost of the dryad, cool shade in his shadow 
Renews her promise alone 

Singing 
Blow, you summer breeze, blow 
You help me remember why I stay behind 
Though alone and adrift on this great leafless ocean 
I still cannot leave my white pine —
No, I never will leave my white pine.