The Tinker's Tree

On the first day of Winter
I left my home less alive than dead
A grey sky hanging over
A coffin slab above my head
I turned my eyes toward the North
And though I could not see
I knew that on a distant hill there grew the tinker's tree

I was scarcely past my garden gate
When a giant old man blocked my path
His beard glistened with ice and rage
And my worn heart quailed before his wrath
His voice rolled like thunder
As he questioned me
But at last he let me past to trudge on toward the tinker's tree

I came up on the coastal cliffs
Up came Old Man Shambles
His face a mass of dark seaweed
His blue touch chilled my heart
But I paid his fee
My wedding band the toll to march on toward the tinker's tree

I came on an old woman
Gathering up firewood
And beyond her I saw mountains
Blocking me where once none had stood
Her raven eye was sharp
As she said to me
"I love the bloodied holly far more than your tinker's tree"

At last I came upon the hill
Where stood the mighty tinker's tree
It's leaves they smelled of death
And it's sharp thorns they cut at me
My brow was bathed in red
'Til all I could see
Was the color of that blessed fruit upon the tinker's tree

Though I was bruised and battered
And my very breath it cut my throat
I gathered leaves and flowers
In the pockets of my worn greatcoat
And then I lit a fire
To brew me a tea
To cure my heart of all its wounds beneath the tinker's tree

To cure my heart of all its wounds beneath the tinker's tree

To cure my heart of all its wounds beneath the tinker's tree