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Memories of childhood lullabies bring sweet pain.
A song of wide and dipping wing,
As they wheel out from sea to shore,
And back once again, forevermore.
Lirri, lirri, the winds say to me,
Drifting past the whitecapped sea,
Circling back with a motion cheery,
And that haunting sound of lirri, lirri.
Lirri, lirri, the moon says on the tide,
In the silence when all song has died.
In the silence of the deepest night,
She says lirri, lirri, with her light.
Lirri, lirri, said the small birds,
Not seagulls then, with jeweled words
They dropped like flowers in the spring.
In my home's gardens, such birds sing!
Lirri, lirri, said the innocent breeze
That floated tame among the trees
That shed a scent to make one teary
From the soft rippling rustle of lirri, lirri.
Lirri, lirri, said the moon on her hands
As they rocked the cradle, to other lands
To bear me upon the tide of sleep.
She sang lirri, lirri, in the deep.
Lirri, lirri, cants the endless refrain,
In my head like a song of pain.
It is the song my mother sang me as a boy,
Twisted and turned from an instrument of joy-
Lirri, lirri- to something that home
Brings to me across sea's flying foam.
It has been years since I left to die.
Yet home still haunts me, and I know not why.