That night she took the rabbit skin blankets off Alice Maud's cradle. She put a wool one there instead. She rocked the cradle. She sang a song her grandmother had taught her. It was called Marsh Berry Leaves, and this is how it went:

Marsh Berry Leaves

Marsh berry leaves are dark and green
Glossy as the river
I took my baby to a steep hilltop
some berries for to gather

And her I did lay in the leaves so green
and turned my face around
and that was the last thing I should have done
—set my baby down

Stones, stones, cold are the stones
my tears fall down on now
If I'd seen before what I've seen now
I'd not have laid my fair one down

She was so plump, she was so bright
an eagle came and found he
r and with a sweeping wing of night
his talons wrapped around her

She made no cry, she made no moan
but softly rode the air
with the dark-winged bird, to her dark new home
without her mother there

Til my legs were scarred and my feet did bleed
I followed over stones
to a cave where the bird slipped from my view
in a valley of shells and bones

And there an old man I did meet
who took me to a cairn
beneath which lay at my torn feet
my own, my loved, my bairn

I saw her breathe, I felt her warmth
I saw her soft hand move
but her eyes were cold as two blank stones
and for me they held no love

They were the eyes of one who has been
where no human child has gone
and I knew my baby was lost to me
for as long as the world spins on