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Sing
.
My
throat
is
tight
with
tears
,
hoarse
from
smoke
and
fatigue
.
But
if
this
is
Prim
's
,
I
mean
,
Rue
's
last
request
,
I
have
to
at
least
try
.
The
song
that
comes
to
me
is
a
simple
lullaby
,
one
we
sing
fretful
,
hungry
babies
to
sleep
with
,
It
's
old
,
very
old
I
think
.
Made
up
long
ago
in
our
hills
.
What
my
music
teacher
calls
a
mountain
air
.
But
the
words
are
easy
and
soothing
,
promising
tomorrow
will
be
more
hopeful
than
this
awful
piece
of
time
we
call
today
.
I
give
a
small
cough
,
swallow
hard
,
and
begin
:
Deep
in
the
meadow
,
under
the
willow
A
bed
of
grass
,
a
soft
green
pillow
Lay
down
your
head
,
and
close
your
sleepy
eyes
And
when
again
they
open
,
the
sun
will
rise
.
Here
it
's
safe
,
here
it
's
warm
Here
the
daisies
guard
you
from
every
harm
Here
your
dreams
are
sweet
and
tomorrow
brings
them
true
Here
is
the
place
where
I
love
you
.
