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Sing a call to a morning dove
Over the prairie, through the hills
I hear it still in the singing of the bread
From your lips which splashed my dull house
With music
I went out walking in the wood
By a river which never sleeps
All I bare, all I sieve
I thought of you so presently
I dreamt of the warmest days of love
Which knew not sorrow nor betrayal
When truth was will in the singing of the gale
But when I lay in a verdant field
None could stay my rising
I went out walking in the wood
And the light casts long from the moon
And life is short as a breath half-taken
I could not wait to tell you the truth
I have been waiting on you

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Not Even Happiness

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