You
At our light I follow the long stone wall through quickening green where nettles
sprawl, my thoughts are not busy with you at all or the curlew cries. Little is left of the rough
edged chill, only clear rivulets surging downhill where the lake's ice cover breaks
charred stream like the curlew on air. Too early for Colt's foot, too late for all heel, cranes
spew them out your bed, bogs spiral and peel. There's nothing can comfort the rending I feel
I need to do, I need to do, I need to do.
Too late for Colt's foot, too late for all heel, cranes spew them out your bed, bogs spiral
and peel.
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
I
At our light I follow the long stone wall
Through quickening green when nettles sprawl
My thoughts are not busy with you at all or the curlew crying
Little is left of the rough edge chill only clear rivulets surging downhill
Where the lake's ice cover breaks sharp and shrill like the curlew crying
Too early for Colt's foot too late for all heel
Cranes bugle and lift
Larks spiral and peel
There's nothing can comfort the mending I feel and the curlew crying
You
