The herbchildren

**\[Verse I]**
Silver breath on sleeping fields
She moves in silence, veiled and whole
Her womb cradles the herbchildren —
Pale-bloomed, rootbound souls

The stars sing soft in her shadow wake
Naming each child in secret tongues
She gathers their dreams in dusk-lit baskets
Feeding them songs the dark has sung

**\[Chorus]**
But the Father chose the flame —
Turned his gaze from fertile night
Burns alone in golden hunger
Chose the light, and not the life

They orbit, haunted by the other
Bound to dance, but not embrace
Her with her brood of seed and silence
Him in fire, without a face

**\[Verse II]**
The moon does not mourn out loud
She weeps in tides and thistle-blooms
Each dusk she births the stars again
And rocks them in her silver womb

She is mother, he — the tyrant blaze
He chases but he never slows
The sky their cradle and their prison
Endless path no meeting knows

**\[Chorus]**
But the Father chose the flame —
Turned his gaze from fertile night
Burns alone in golden hunger
Chose the light, and not the life

They orbit, haunted by the other
Bound to dance, but not embrace
Her with her brood of seed and silence
Him in fire, without a face

**\[Outro – whispered or instrumental growl]**
Herbchildren bloom where no light falls
Moon-fed, root-deep, beyond his calls
She carries all who grow unseen
In a garden where no sun has been