The wind is pushing the clouds along / Out of sight
A power is putting them away / A power that moves things neurotically
Like a widow with a rosary
Everything is awing and tired of praise / Mountains don’t need my accolades
Spring looks bad lately anyway / Like death warmed over
And the bantam is preening madly / Waiting for the light of day
And all I want to do is to make love
To y o u
With a careless mind
With a careless careless
Who care’s what’s mine?
We call it Spring though things are dying
Connected to the land like a severed hand
I see our house on a hill on a clear blue morning
When I am out walking my eyes are still forming
The door I walk through and I see
The true Spring is in you
The true Spring is in you
My wide worlds collide / And mind-wide words collide
And seasons kaleidoscoping
And all I want to do...
All I want to do is to make love to you
In the fertile dirt
In the fertile dirt
With a careless mind