Out Of The Fire
S
Sheena Blackhall
0
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Out of the fire came ashes
Out of the ash came air
Ghost of my child, I seek you
In street, wood, everywhere
Death comes with a pill, a needle
What hurt puts that hunger there?
Oh, may the thronging spirits
Cherish you with more care
May your neighbours be heath and moormoth
Beat of my heart, my son
May the hills of your fathers around you
Guard you till worlds be done
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