This Solemn Day
Sam Beam
You returned the book unfinished
About a girl with raven hair
And a gentleman, her lover
Who presented her a mare
Which she rode across the country
Leaving him to tend the land
Which had turned to dry a quarter
When it met his lonely hands
No more weeds left in your garden
No more green and no more stone
No more guilty left to pardon
Only evil of your own