I'm 
Made of bones of the branches 
The boughs and the brow-beating light 

While my feet are the trunks 
And my head is the canopy high 

And my fingers extend 
To the leaves 
And the eaves 
And the (bright?) 

Might I shine? 
It's my shine (child?) 

He 
Was a baby abandoned 
Entombed in a cradle of claim (clay?) 

And I was a soul 
Who took pity 
And stole him away 

And gave him the form of 
A fawn to inhabit 
By day 

Bright Eyes, stay 
It's my day 

And you 
Have removed this temptation 
That's troubled my innocent child 

To abduct and abuse and to render, (bereft?) and defiled 

But the river is deep 
To the banks and the water is wild, 
I will fly you 
To the far side