They crowned the Crow King with a circlet of silver
Forged with the captured light of the waxing stars.
On the morning after the night of the new moon,
We vowed to serve; but the river bending made
The river too wide to cross. Ready and watching
At the well, I shook the sleep from my eyes and shed
The cocoon from my soul at last. The Minstrel brought
Money, but it was his violin I wanted (in exchange
For some of my sadness—even trade). Love was
A fallen bird on the forest floor. It was the frozen
Smoke of words said in coldness. I asked the King
For laughter, the thing the Crow King best bestows,
But instead he gave me the gift of finite patience
And a circlet of silver made of the waxing stars.
