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