A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump

A stick, a stone, the end of the load
A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain
In the distance the shelves, grow three shadows of blue
The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The shot of a gun in the dead of the night
The plan of the house the body in bed
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps

It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
A sudden stroke of night
The rest of the stump, a lonesome road
A night, a death, the end of the run
The beat of the road, a slingshot stone
A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain

It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart
A sliver of glass, a life, a sun
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart

A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring

A cliff, a fall, a scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun
It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart
A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule

A fox in the brush, the knot in the wood

The oak when it blooms
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite, a blink, a buzzard

It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart
And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud
And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A fight, a bet, the range of a bow
A drip, a drop, the end of the tale

The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find
It's a thorn in your hand or a cut on your toe

A truckload of bricks, in the soft morning light
And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
The bed of the well, the end of the line
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
The song of a thrush, the wood of the wind
And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe

It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope
It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of a slope