Fill, a chuisle mo chroi

There is a time a place they say
With hills of green and skies of grey
Where sits a woman on the strings she plays
Of her lost love, forgotten days

Fill, a chuisle mo choi she sings
Passion in her gives words wings
To her tale of woeful things
Lovers caress she gives her strings

The heart that's broken stronger cries
Of love that's lost and broken ties
From the depths, her soul, it sighs
And still she sings her ode to rise

From far away her song breaks through
Caught the beating heart it's calling to
Her sorrow sighs her voice calls true
To find the source away he flew

To follow the call she sent he soared
The simple songs that strike the chords
Of simple folk, ladies and lords
Yet could not find the sad sweet source

From sea to sea, unending days
He labours on, to the Lord he prays
For the girl who in his heart takes place
While under skies of grey her songs she plays


(Fill, a chuisle mo chroi - translates in Irish Gaelic to "return, the pulse of my heart")
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written this morning for a request for a sad song. lol ... Inspired by wonderful music I was listening to today while folding laundry and daydreaming. (a common state I admit - the daydreaming not the folding as much)