MidnightNiall CampbellMy heart had been repeating oh heart, poor heartall evening. And all because I'd held my child,oh heart, and found that age was in my cup now;poor heart, it bare knew anythingbut the life of a young axman in the forest,whistler, tree-feller, swinging with the wind,where oh heart, poor heart isn't the heard song,where there is no cry in the night, no cradling,no heart grown heavy, heavier, from opening.