Herne the Hunter
Written by Fish - Marillion
Tendrils of ivy huddle round ancient oaks
Chill winter blasts have torn off their leafy cloaks
Roots seeking refuge in the depths of the fertile soil
Where royal beasts scrape, starving with rank and file.
In this icy wasteland a lone figure wanders
Green leathers and fine furs turn frosts piercing fingers.
Antlered helm, ivory horn, he need fear no danger
A god among mortals, Herne the dark ranger.
Owl light descending, he enters the clearing
Moss bedecked cottage, its light softly gleaming
In this woodland haven, a mistress of seasons
A mortal of beauty, his lover awaits him.
In this white utopia, sadness intrudes on them
Springtime approaches, Hernes' labours draw to an end
Soon he must leave her, return to the underworld
His form slowly fading when snowdrops rise to unfurl.