Blackthorn Winter

In a blackthorn winter
There was frost upon the ground
And she gathered her aprons and picked up her baskets
And scattered seeds around
And the shape of her honour was
A simple case of pride…
Ooh, ooh
And in a blackthorn winter
There were hands upon the spade
And she thought of the garden, the bread, and the promise
And other things she’d made
And the shape of her longing was
A thing she kept inside
Ooh, ooh
She put food on the table and logs on the fire
A-ah, ah…
A-ah, ah…
Oh, in a blackthorn winter
She was mute, and she was spent
As she gave back the courage, the strength and the passion
She’d borrowed or been lent
And the shape of her grieving was
A thing she’d held too long
Ooh, ooh…
And in a blackthorn winter
She opened up the earth
She kissed out the candle
She’d lit for pale Bridget
Waiting for the birth
And the shape of her praying was
The silence and the song…