Migrants On The Road To Marck Poem by William Fay

We shall spread our blanket soft
Beneath the heavy tree;
We shall sleep entwined,
Like the long branches above.

There in the sharp corn,
Grows tall the red poppy.
There above the crop
In the evening light
Swirls a spiral of amber dust,
The insect and bird.

There swoops the black crow.

Long live our shadows
Rising in the morning,
My wild flower
In the morning.

We raiders of summer fruit,
Over the orchard wall at dawn;
Dreaming of a far and gentle house,
Of sweet, brittle bones,
Picked clean, then piled,
Dry upon the hollow plate.

Come along the winding lanes,
Through the hedgerow,
Two lovers, far from home,
Across the fields, we go.