In this lonely field I hear her as the last of twilight falls.
In the chill air of the meadow sounds the loveliest of calls.
No, I don’t know where it comes from, I just hear the lady sing,
and the starlight starts to shine above the ancient meadow’s ring.
The first notes sound the loneliest, and far afield, and sad,
but when the star fire blazes, there’s a cheerful shift to glad.
No moon tonight? No matter.
See? The stars shine just the same.
And one day I hope to see her,
and to learn her ancient name.
For now though, let the wolves be calm
throughout the wheeling night.
I loathe to use my staff or blade,
or stitch the deep-fanged bite.
My smooth-stoned seat’s beneath me
as the song fades in the trees.
And yet no sound of fleeing feet.
She makes sure no one sees.
See how the stars are shining bright
for comfort, guidance, dreams,
and wishes stored for children, lovers,
silencing the screams
that plague us in the night time hours.
Sometimes they are mine.
I wish to never hear the end
of singing stars to shine.
Beyond Panic 