Song
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Wildflower, Sleep
Indie Folk
Song story
“Then you asked, ‘Will you sing when she won’t settle down?’ I said, ‘She’ll want you.’ You said, ‘Learn the song now.’
That small exchange is the heart of “Wildflower, Sleep.” It begins as a private love song: rain on the roof, bread for tomorrow, cold feet finding warmth beneath the covers. Before their daughter is born, a woman tells her husband the myth of Dryope, a mother transformed into a tree who asks that her child grow up beneath her branches. She asks him to learn the song their baby will need. When she dies after childbirth, he reaches for another ancient story. Like Orpheus searching for Eurydice, he imagines walking into the land of the dead and singing until someone lets her come home. Then his daughter stirs. An original acoustic indie folk ballad carried by Forge’s warm baritone and fingerpicked guitar, “Wildflower, Sleep” brings Greek mythology into an ordinary household. Its grief lives in a handmade quilt, an empty place against a shoulder and the words a father corrects because his daughter was loved before she could know it. The final lullaby fulfils a promise he never understood he was making. Written, arranged and produced by Techcowgirl. Performed by Forge. Thank you for giving this story your time.
Lyrics
You came through the gate with a tear in your sleeve, With flowers the farmer had asked you to leave. You put one behind my ear, laughing at me: “There. Now you’re the prettiest thing that I’ve seen.” We walked the long way till the village went dark; You carried your shoes, and I carried your scarf. By winter, your boots stood beside mine downstairs. By spring, I was finding your pins everywhere. Wildflower, sleep. Lay your head here with me. Let the rain have the roof; Let the roots hold the trees. There is bread for tomorrow, And tonight, there is peace. Put your cold feet against mine. Wildflower, sleep. You told me of Dryope, turning to wood, Still asking to hold her own child while she could. “Bring him here to my branches. Let him play in my shade.” You closed up the book with your hand where she lay. Our daughter moved under the heel of your palm. You caught at my wrist: “Here. She knows who you are.” Then you asked, “Will you sing when she won’t settle down?” I said, “She’ll want you.” You said, “Learn the song now.” Wildflower, sleep. Lay your head here with me. Let the rain have the roof; Let the roots hold the trees. There is bread for tomorrow, And tonight, there is peace. Put your cold feet against mine. Wildflower, sleep. You laboured till dawn with your hand locked in mine. When they laid her against you, you laughed and you cried. “Look at her fingers. How can they be real?” I bent down to kiss them. Your hand loosened still. Then someone said, “Stay with us.” Someone said, “Please.” They lifted our daughter and moved me aside. I stood with her wrapped in the quilt you had made. She opened her mouth. You were dying. She cried. Orpheus, tell me the way to the dead. I’ve a song she was teaching me, still in my head. I would walk where you walked. I would kneel where you knelt. I would sing till the stones knew the love that I felt. Let me stand at that river. Let somebody say, “Your Eurydice’s coming. Keep walking away.” I would look. God, I’d look. You could call it a sin. If I heard her behind me, I would lose her again. But our daughter is stirring. It’s quarter to three. There is milk on my shirt where your head used to be. She uncurls all her fingers and catches my sleeve. I say, “You would have loved her.” Then, “She loved you, sweet.” Wildflower, sleep. Lay your head here with me. Let the rain have the roof; Let the roots hold the trees. There is milk for the morning. There is you. There is me. Put your small hand in my hand. Wildflower, sleep. I’m learning the song, love. She’s listening to me. Wildflower, sleep.