baby birch

Baby Birch
Joanna Newsom
Baby Birch

There is a blacksmith,
and there is a shepherd,
and there is a butcher boy,
and there is a barber, who’s cutting
and cutting away at my only joy.
I saw a rabbit,
as slick as a knife,
and as pale as a candlestick,
and I had thought it’d be harder to do,
but I caught her, and skinned her quick:
held her there,
kicking and mewling,
upending, unspooling, unsung and blue;
told her “wherever you go,
little runaway bunny,
I will find you.”
And then she ran,
as they’re liable to do.

Be at peace, baby,
and be gone.
Be at peace, baby,
and be gone.

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