While clouds kiss and bruise the hills with grey

A crow and worm romance in the fields below.

The worm smells juicy to the murderous crow,

A morsel to be eaten soon, unless it will obey.

The worm is hiding in the frosty sward

until the spring melts all the winter snow.

Then the secrets of the worm’s burnished glow

may be opened by the crowbeak’s rasping sword.

For now, while winter fights its white campaign

the worm shares her place with the bones of kings,

and gold or souls and other buried things.

So crow can only caw its spiteful refrain.

The passing time will fade the snow’s pure white

then worm will curl up, smaller, smaller

and ask the Maker “Pray protect your messenger,

and hide me in another shining night,

for I have seen so many wondrous things

burnished, glimmering as I slither deep below

Save me from the scraping beaks of crows

And allow my witness to the sins of kings.”

“Mary, you have never served me true”,

Said crow as he addressed the worm,

But as in all our lives each season’s turn

and all our efforts must in death conclude.

And though now you hide within the frigid turf

To each of us the winters end must come,

Yield your soul, or else your life is done,

And that will be the end to all your work.

The worm replied, “So, Thomas, must I cast aside,

the holy love of our one true lord,

He surely knows that when I give my word,

I know different in my heart - or else I die.

As fields submit to winter's white campaign,

clouds kiss and bruise the hills with grey,

a queen parlays her soul for earthly pay,

while crow caws out his rasping, cruel refrain.

previous version:

13 February 1542

While clouds kiss and bruise the hills with grey

A crow and worm romance in the fields below.

The worm seems merely juicy to the curious crow,

a tasty morsel for its daily buffet.

The worm is safe under hard and frosty sward

until the melting of the winter snow,

only then the secrets of the worms burnished glow

may be opened by the crowbeak’s rasping sword.

For now, while winter fights its white campaign

the worm shares her place with the bones of kings,

or gold or souls or andother buried things

and crow can only caw its spiteful refrain.

But soon, passing time will wash the snow aside

then worm will curl up, smaller, smaller

and ask the Maker “Pray protect me, your messenger,

and hide me in another shining night,

for I have seen so many wondrous things

burnished, glimmering as I slither deep below

Save me from the scraping beaks of crows

And allow my witness to the sins of kings.”

“I now know that you never served me true”,

Said crow as he addressed the worm,

"But as in every life the season’s turn

All our efforts will eventuall conclude.

And though now you hide within the frigid turf

To each of us the winters end must come,

But your are first, your life is done,

For I will be the end to all your work"