Rowan

(Verse 1) Upon the rocky slopes, where winds blow keen and cold, Or at the woodland's edge, a slender form unfolds. The rowan, or mountain ash, with leaves of feathered grace, A delicate appearance in its high and lonely place. In springtime, creamy blossoms in clusters do appear, A fragrant, gentle promise of the bounty of the year. Then tiny, bead-like fruits emerge, a vibrant, fiery show, That ripens into scarlet, as autumn breezes blow. (Instrumental break) (Verse 2) These berries, though quite bitter to the human taste, Provide a vital sustenance, in nature's winter waste. For birds like fieldfares gather, and blackbirds feast their fill, Scattering the seeds abroad, on moorland and on hill. Its bark is smooth and silver-grey, with lenticels so fine, And through the airy branches, the sunlight seems to shine. Its wood, though not of great girth, is strong and close of grain, For carving into charms, against all earthly pain. (Instrumental break) (Verse 3) From ancient Celtic wisdom, a sacred tree it stood, A guardian against evil, throughout the land and wood. Protection from dark magic, and journeys safely kept, Its power in the berries, and in the branches slept. Above the doorway placed, or carried on the way, It warded off misfortune, and kept bad luck at bay. The rowan's fiery colour, a symbol of life's spark, A beacon in the landscape, against the winter dark. (Instrumental break) (Verse 4) So let us not be fooled, by its delicate facade, For strength and ancient power, within its form are laid. A tree of mountain slopes, and valleys green and deep, The rowan stands as guardian, its timeless secrets keep.