"She gathered gifts..."

She gathered modest gifts to lay 
beside his cradled head
a sparrow for a friend
to sing a song of sweetness 
and hold gently in his hand

Along the path she rested 
when weariness engulfed
and there she lay within 
the arms of moss 
soft as her mother's breast

a branch of willow 
smooth as silk like 
fingers cool and sweet 
would someday 
weave a thornless crown 
for boyhood games 
of kings

she brought her gifts 
when morning mist 
still blanketed the moor 
and thought of 
yet another lad 
born in winter's cold

his bird, a dove, 
his moss was hay
his branch of thorns 
to come
but still a babe 
and still a mum 
and still a winter's morn