The Blessing Moon

The words welled up on my tongue, as they'd been fighting to do for weeks now. And this time I let them; I let them pour, sweet and pure and sad and final, and I sang him off as I'd sung off other men, other loves, other evenings, other lifetimes ago.

The ritual lament. The ritual acknowledgement, the ritual cleansing. May we part in peace.

As I was walking all alane
I heard twa corbies makin' mane;
And tane ontae the tither did say,
Where shall we gang and dine the day
Where shall we gang and dine the day? 

In behind yon aul fail dyke
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there-o
But his hawk and his hound and his lady fair-o,
His hawk and his hound and his lady fair. 

His hawk is tae the hunting gane,
His hound to fetch the wildfowl hame;
His lady has ta'en anither mate-o
So we may make our dinner sweet-o,
We may make our dinner sweet 

Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane
And I'll pike out his bonny blue een;
With many a lock of his golden hair-o
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare-o,
Theek our nest when it grows bare. 

Many a one for him makes mane
But nane shall ken where he is gane;
O'er his white bones when they are bare-o
The wind shall blow for evermare-o,
The wind shall blow for evermare.