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Written for a freind of mine.  The song is traditional and should be out of copywrite... I guess I shoudl say this is based on the Fairport version of this song. I don't know how close the lyrics are to the origainal

The story is very short at this point.  I may go back and add to it... I may not.  I have to stop crying first.

 

Oh Western wind when will thou blow

The small rain down can rain

And if my love were in my arms

And I in my bed again

And I in my bed again

And I in my bed again

They didn’t see each other as much as they liked anymore.  She hadn’t grown up with him.  But in the world they shared, one that required children to move almost constantly, it had been long enough.   They had spent many years inseparable, as inseparable as twins.  Now there was work and life, and romantic partnerships to get in the way.  The adult world left little for the pastimes of youth.  And without the pastimes of youth, little excuse to drive the miles between them. 

 

Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns

Bring autumn’s pleasant weather

The moorcock springs on whirring

Among the blooming heather

Now waving grain wild o’er the plain

Delights the weary farmer

The moon shines bright as I rove at night

To muse upon my charmer

 

But there was always the music.  The first thing to bring them together was musical taste, both reviling in the music of the past, be it updated or left as it was traditionally sung.  Both had danced their harts out in field and in cafes and community centers.  Both had sung along at the tops of their voices, sometimes so badly that those around them would stare.  The music never meant as much alone, without the other to say “but what about-” or to bring up the songs that they had heard for the first time together.  Separation was difficult.  

   

The partridge loves the fruitful fells

The plover loves the mountain

The woodcock haunts the lonely dells

The soaring hern the fountains

Though lofty groves the cushant roves

The path of man to shun it…

The hazel bush o’erhangs the thrush

The spreading thorn the linnet

 

Each loved nature as well.  Although exactly what type of nature was always a debate between them.  He spent many years on boats, while she dug in the soil, but in the end the wanderlust bourn into them and cultured by many years of constant change would urge them on.  Some times moving would bring them close together, sometimes farther apart.  But it didn’t matter.  By now communication was so easy and inexpensive that one could wander to the other side of the earth and still be almost instantly with the other when times called for it.  Space could no longer divide them.

 

 

Thus every kind their pleasure find

The savage and the tender

Some social join some leagues combine

And some solitary wander

Avaunt, away the cruel sway

Tyrannic man’s dominion…

The sportsman’s joy the murdering cry

The fluttering gory pinion

 

They had never been lovers, to spite what everyone else in the world seemed to think.  Somehow that relationship had always seemed wrong, even sacrilegious.  Each had found pleasure in others.  And each had cared for the other during the painful times of separation and loneliness.  Sometimes the partner of one, or both, didn’t understand what the two shared.  Partners were often jealous, yet another restriction on time that could be spent together.   But like all the others, not insurmountable.

 

 

But Polly dear the evening’s here

Swift flies the skimming swallow

The sky is blue the field’s in view

All fading green and yellow

Come let us stray our gladsome way

And view the charms of nature

The rustling corn the fruited thorn

And every happy creature

 

They both missed the long nighttime walks, the ones that went on all night, where they discussed everything from the meaning of life to the local gossip.   In their youth they had learned the whole area by the light of the moon.  They could find the way anywhere in the dark, but were not always as successful navigation by the light of the sun.  The night was time for just the two of them.

 

We’ll gently talk and sweetly walk

Till the silent moon shines clearly

I’ll grasp thy waist and fondly pressed

Swear how I love thee dearly

Not vernal showers to budding flowers

Not autumn to the farmer

So dear can be as you to me

My fair, my lovely charmer

 

 

And there was still the music, always best outside, the smell of trampled grass underfoot, the heat of the summer sun on your back.  From time to time, it still happened- time for the old magic.  Dance and song.  When the world would collapse and it would be so small that in consisted of two people riding on the sound of well loved Music.  Every note from every band always played just for them.  And one day they realized it didn’t matter.  It didn’t matter how far either of them went or how long it was between talks.  In the silence between the notes of a well loved song beat the hart of the other.  Their harts would beat together as long as the old songs were sung.

 

Oh western wind when will thou blow

The small rain down can rain

And if my love were in my arms

And I in my bed again

And I in my bed again

And I in my bed again