Bringeth thee woes,
Mine dearest friend
Wear not the worries
That run through thy head.


Lay down thy head
And hold mine own breast
Take a deep breath now,
Dear sir,
And rest.

Bringeth thee woes,
Mine dearest friend
Wear not the worries that run through thy head
Sleep now,
Dear sir,
And dream of what may
Come tomorrow
Or come to-day.

As you lay respite,
With nary a stir,
The animals awake,
Ready to run-
To shed winter’s fur.

Thine future is not yet set,
Though with nary a guess
I’d willing to bet
Together we stay,
You and I,
Working the land
And biding our time.

Our season is nearing,
Our time and our day
To live here we must
Plow our own way.


This land is yet fertile,
Ready to grow
Yearning and wanting
For the crops that we sow.

There’s a chill in the air,
A promise, a hint,
A teasing quick glance
At the shelter we raise,
The love that we chance.

Bringeth thee woes,
Mine dearest friend.
Wear not the worries
That run through thine head.

Our hopes are yet high,
Our spirits done rested,
For spring is nigh,
Our time to be bested.