In the very early morning
long before Dawn time
I lay down in the paddock
and listened to the cold song of the grass.
Between my fingers the green blades,
And the blades pressed against my body.
'Who is she leaning so heavily upon me?'
Sang the grass.
'Why does she weep on my bosom,
Mingling her tears with the tears of my mystic lover?
Foolish little earth child!
It is not yet time.
One day I shall open my bosom
And you shall slip inn - but not weeping.
Then in the early morning
Long befor Dawn time
Your lover will lay in the paddock.
Between his fingers the green blades
And the green blades pressed against his body...
My song shall not sound cold to him
In my deep wave he will find the wave of your hair
In my strong sweet perfume the perfume of your kisses.
Long and long he will lie there...
Laughing, not weeping.'