The Child in the Bearskin

I want an old path to tread A room with an untouched bed And for spirits to live in the trees A fragile light to ward away the night But this river is never dry And the seasons never die They return with undue strength The hurtling reach of a mess that we will make I wish I could melt in the spring A light to wane A bird to sing And fly away Or I could wear The claws of the bear Warm skin, cold eyes All aloof There is nothing in the trees There is nothing that serene 'Cause there's nothing more unseen Than the dream I have as the child in the bearskin