PATRICK: magpie,
was it you who stole the wedding ring?
or what other
thieving bird would steal
such hope away?
magpie, i am lost among the hinterland,
caught among the bracken
and the fern
and the boys who have no name.

MARIANNE: there's no name for us.

PATRICK: still we sing.

MARIANNE:
and still we sing
little boy,
little boy,
lost and blue,
listen now,
let me tell you what to do.
you can run on
run along
alone or home between the knees of her;
all among her bracken
and her ferns
and the boy will have a name.

BOTH: we will sing.

MARIANNE: and we will sing.

MARIANNE: one for sorrow.

PATRICK: two for joy.

MARIANNE: three for a girl.

PATRICK: four for a boy.

MARIANNE: five for silver.

PATRICK: six for gold.

MARIANNE: seven for a secret, never to be told

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