I will not dance for you
I will not swing my hair
for I have shorn it from my head
and tossed it in the air. 

This spring, the birds will gather it,
weave it in the trees,
sing a song of gratitude for
this gift they did receive. 

I have no need to dance for you
or swing my pretty hair,
for I can see my radiance
sparkling in the air. 

You chose to kill a songbird,
but my trill still floats
above the days,
and never will forgive you
for burning
Mother on my grave.