S.Ph. Essays and Explorations

The Ever-Expanding Issue
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Pagan Winter

Samm Willard

Isn’t this a lovely place to pick apart your lover’s face
Some say the river bank’s a sacred place
Others think thats such a silly thing to say
But I would never try to prove them wrong on such a blissful day
The colors of the leaves will soon have changed
The yellows and the greens will fade to gray
But I will lose a quiet hour to the darkest day
A pagan winter’s on its way
I will see the death of God before it’s Christmas day
A pagan winters on its way
Well isn’t this some lovely clay to mold into your lover’s face
Some say the image and the thing are the same
Others think that’s such a silly thing to say
But I would never prove a poet wrong on such a blissful day
We will be all right
Love to hold you tight
We will be just fine
But I will lose a quiet hour to the darkest day
A pagan winter’s on its way
I will see the death of God before it’s Christmas day
A pagan winter’s on its way
Isn’t this a lovely place to pick apart your lover’s face
Some say the river bank’s a sacred place
Others think thats such a silly thing to say
But I would never try to prove them wrong on such a blissful day
I go into a frenzy and then we pray
To river gods who sweep young girls away
To river gods who sweep young girls at play
To river gods who speak more than we say