Where Tommy Lay

A pilgrimage to summers ley
When should we find them fair and fey
A stronger man would turn away
But not me, not me never

Bone and bracken beneath thy feet
Where blood and earth deign to meet
As snowfall turns to driving sleet
Oh Tommy, won’t you yield

Upon dark moor and lonely fell
As if heralded by some unseen knell
The dead come to talk and tell
Breathing deep the heather

An offering to the setting sun
What is harvested today one day begun
So plant and sew till sewings done
Oh Tommy of the field