Harrowing Fields

A crow flies high in the sky. Over the fields, Barren, Harrowed, and dry. The wizard stands in the field. Mulling the dirt, Sifting the ground, Looking at that which had rotted And soiled the land. Oh oh oh. Creating a circle, Of Sil’vir enchanted, The magic he casts Is to heal the corruption. The roots in the ground Are stifled, constricted. Choking the life from the planet The evil runs down and runs out. Oh oh oh. The breathe of life, A magic to this land. How long would it take, For restoration In the plants. With me I have brought to reveal, The magic of plants, made to heal. No matter the damage, the evil demanded How long might this take to appeal? A circle? A cycle. Let go of the path, And begin to heal With me I have brought to reveal, The magic of plants, made to heal. No matter the damage, the evil demanded How long might this take to appeal?