A stick, a stone
It's the end of the road
It's the rest of the stump

It's a little alone

It's a silver glass

It is life; it's the sun
It is night; it is death
It's a trap; it's a gun


The oak when it blooms
A fox in the brush

A knot in the wood
The song af a thrush


The wood of the wind
A cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump

It is nothing at all

It's the blowing free

It's the end of the slope
It's a beam;it's a void
It's a hunch;it's a hope


And the river bank talks
Of the wathers of March

It's the end of the strain
It's the joy in your heart


The foot, the ground
The flesh and the bone
The beat of the road

A sligshot stone

A fish, a flash

A silvery glow
A fight, a bet
The range of a bow


The bed of the well
The end of the line

The dismay in the face
It's a loss; it's a find


A spear, a spike
A point, a nail
A drip, a drop

The end of the tale

A truckload of briks

In the soft morning light
The shot of a gun
In the dead of the night


A mile, a must
A thrust, a bump

It's a girl; it's a rhyme
It's cold; it's the mups
The plan of the house

The body in bed
And the car that got stuck
It's the mud; it's the mud


A float, a drift
A flight, a wing

A hawk, a quail
The promise of spring


And the river bank talks
Of the waters of March
It's the promise of life

It's the joy in your heart

A snake, a stik

It's John; it is Joe
It's a thorn in your hand
And a cut in your toe

A point; a grain

A bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard
A sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle

A sting, a pain
A snail, a riddle
A wasp, a stain

A pass in the mountains

A horse and a mule
In the distance yhe shelves
Rode three shadows of blue

And the river bank talks

Of the wathers of March
It's the promise of life
In your heart, in your heart

A stick, a stone
It's the end of the road

It's the rest of the stump
A lonesome road

A silver of glass
A life, the sun
A knife, a death
The end of the run


And the river bank talks of the waters of March
Is the promise of life
It's the joy in your heart