And in that grove, upon that heath
where we lay down to sleep
they wove, for you, a wedding wreath
from tears they’d made you weep.
With thorns, entwined, to bite my brow
they wove, for me, a crown
to mock me, as a sacred cow,
and cast me as a clown.
But in that grove we slept secure
in love, deep as the sea.
With laurelled love
we could endure,
like Christ, nailed to that tree!