The girl with the corn flower hair called to me on the summer wind
And begged me for a favor
Tell no one where I have been this eve and whom these hands have held
And in return I promise you a reward most vied to savor.
The wicked girl with the corn flower hair
Paid a heavy price
And in the morn the judge came to my door
And beckoned to me thrice.
Denied, denied, denied a again
A bastard born next spring
A boy with corn flower hair sits
Beneath his mother’s wing
Where the judge found fault
It is not my place to say
But on the whispered wind I’ll hear
Two small voices pray