Song of the Flower

When the hurt shall bring you woe,
God made the healing herb to grow
A bloom on the tree
When the apples are ripe
Means the end
Of somebody’s life
Ash when green
Is fuel for a Queen
The Michaelmas daisy
Among dead leaves
Blooms for St. Micheal’s
Valorous deeds
In dock, out nettle,
Don’t let the blood settle
Elder tree, Elder tree,
Crocked, wrong
Never straight
And never strong
Never bush
And never tree,
Since our Lord
Was nailed to thee
Under a thron,
Our saviour was born
If the sagebrush
Thrives and grows,
The master’s not master
-and he knows!
St. Agnes, that’s to lovers kind,
Come ease the trouble of my mind
Elm dogrieve, Oak do hate
Willow do walk; If you travels late