(by Nancy Kerr)

You can see me anytime you need me
  Warm beyond a reason, night is on the wing
And you could linger like a grind of ginger
  Making love a season, heating up the skin

You can water me with tears of hunger
  Like the wheat in winter, pressed into a bed
Like a handprint, flour upon a black dress
  White against the darkness, leavened into bread

	We are not our gravest deeds; 
	  you are not your grieving __
	For the bravest flower seeds 
	  as the birds are leaving __
	As the thin glow of summer's death 
	  will turn the leaves to red
	May the wind blow like a lover's breath, 
	  still warm as gingerbread

Dreams are kneaded into walls and windows
  Sheltering our sorrows, dusted and adorned
With the sweetness of some kind tomorrows
  Sugars incompleteness, rested into form

	We are not our gravest deeds ... 

And while the black sky spreads its myth of thunder
  That we labor under, reckoned by the dead
These are crude thanks, charity and food banks
  For our harvest splendour, pepper for our bread

	We are not our gravest deeds ... 

	We are not our gravest deeds ... 

recording: Nancy Kerr & the Sweet Visitor Band (live, 2014) [YouTube]