Cavalier

The dusty road it wormed its way through the fields and groves
To cool ale-house shade and fresly steaming loaves.
The fields of wheat are burning, our armies they are returning
And I will be tomorrow sleeping in the sun.
A bright blue cap of needlewort, laced with tailored cord
Was picked for me 'neath the Rowan Mounds -the throne of dragon lords.
The fields of wheat are burning, our armies they are returning
And I will be tomorrow sleeping in the sun.
A lantern's lit with laughter in the leaded window's eye
To guide a weary traveller to comfort and fruit pie.
The fields of wheat are burning, our armies they are returning
And I will be tomorrow sleeping in the sun.