Een vrij traditioneel gearrangeerd popliedje op tekst van de altijd even vrolijke dichter John F. Freeman. Bij dit nummer blaas ik mee op een zelfgemaakte Native American fluit, een type fluit dat al eeuwenlang door de Indianen werd/wordt gebruikt.
Dit is het gedicht, enigszins aangepast voor de muziek, gezongen door vocaloid Avanna:
A winter sky of pale blue and pale gold,
Bare trees, a wind that made the wood-path cold,
And one slow-moving figure, gray and old.
We met where the soft path falls from the wood
As I came near she stood
And answered when I spoke, drawing the hood
Back from her face. I saw only her eyes,
Large and sad. I could not bear those eyes.
They were like new graves. I could not bear her eyes.
But what we said as each passed on is gone.
We looked and passed like strangers on,
I to the high wood, she towards the paling sun.
And there, where the clear-heavened small pool lies,
And the tallest beeches brush the bending skies,
In pool and tree I saw again her eyes.
Alvast zeer bedankt voor het luisteren!
Dit is het gedicht, enigszins aangepast voor de muziek, gezongen door vocaloid Avanna:
A winter sky of pale blue and pale gold,
Bare trees, a wind that made the wood-path cold,
And one slow-moving figure, gray and old.
We met where the soft path falls from the wood
As I came near she stood
And answered when I spoke, drawing the hood
Back from her face. I saw only her eyes,
Large and sad. I could not bear those eyes.
They were like new graves. I could not bear her eyes.
But what we said as each passed on is gone.
We looked and passed like strangers on,
I to the high wood, she towards the paling sun.
And there, where the clear-heavened small pool lies,
And the tallest beeches brush the bending skies,
In pool and tree I saw again her eyes.
Alvast zeer bedankt voor het luisteren!