Mould the clay

Not now, cries the raven

For I am weak and worn

My wings are beaten and torn

I am tired and forlorn

Yes now, little raven

He tells her in her dreams

That time has come it seems

To mend your wings for war

No more, says the raven

Yes more, says the voice

So we can rejoice

When the new dawn has come

You will be warmed by the sun

And you will ache no more

No more?  Asked the raven

No more, says the voice

But you do have a choice

This path or two others

Choose wisely for you sisters and brothers

You lead the way

You mould the clay for which land they will play

On that fateful day

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