St. Stephen
Saint Stephen with a rose
In and out of the garden he goes
Country garland in the wind and the rain
Wherever he goes the people all complain
Stephen prospered in his time
Well he may and he may decline
Did it matter, does it now?
Stephen would answer if he only knew how
Wishing well with a golden bell
Bucket hanging clear to hell
Hell halfway twixt now and then
Stephen fill it up and lower down and lower down again
Lady finger, dipped in moonlight
Writing What for? across the morning sky
Sunlight splatters, dawn with answer
Darkness shrugs and bids the day goodbye
Speeding arrow, sharp and narrow
What a lot of fleeting matters you have spurned
Several seasons with their treasons
Wrapped the babe in scarlet covers, call it your own
Did he doubt or did he try?
Answers aplenty in the bye and bye
Talk about your plenty, talk about your ills
One man gathers what another man spills
Saint Stephen will remain, all hes lost he shall regain
Seashore walk by the suds and the foam
Been there so long, hes got to calling it home
Fortune comes a calling, calliope woman
Spinning that curious sense of your own
Can you answer, Yes I can?
But what would be the answer to the answer-man?
High green chilly winds and windy vines
In loops around the twisted shafts of lavender, theyre crawling to the
Sun
Underfoot the ground is patched
With arms of ivy wrapped around the manzanita, stark and shiny in the
Breeze
Wonder who will water all the children of the garden
When they sigh about the barren lack of rain and droop so hungry neath
The sky
William Tell has stretched his bow til it wont stretch
No furthermore and/or it may require a change that hasnt come before