Away in the Wind

Away in the wind

Drifts all manner of things

To the tune of woodwinds

And softly plucked strings

Murmurs of small voices

As they drift off to sleep

And their parents' rejoices

As they fall in a heap

Silent little prayers

Made with closed little lips

To ward off nightmares

And maybe the apocalypse

Distant unheard screams

And the final groans

Of little ones in the streams

And unmotherly crones

Away in the wind

Drifts all manner of things

To the tune of woodwinds

And softly plucked strings