The Strange One

They led the strange one into the woods To the tree that stands like a twisted snake And the hawthorn bush it tore his skin But never a sound did the strange one make Like a semiquaver from a flute Only a blackbird piped his passing For he was a puzzle, a question mark As they led him on where the dark was massing The shy musk rose, she hung her head As he danced and jerked on the dule tree's arm And they left him alone in the quiet night Hanging there, like a wish-tree's charm Nobody came to mourn his loss No keening mother to close his eyes With a coin, a prayer and a shrill lament The strange one, under the forest skies