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 sliver of 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,
The knot in the wood,
The song of the thrush
The wood of the wind,
A cliff, a fall,
A scratch, a lump,
It is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free
It's the end of a slope
It's a beam, it's a void,
It's a hunch, it's a hope
And the riverbank talks
Of the water of march
It's the end of the strain,
It's the joy in your heart
The foot, the ground,
The flesh, the bone,
The beat of the road,
A slingshot stone
A fish, a flash,
A silvery glow,
A fight, a bet,
The range of the 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 bricks,
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 the cold, it's the mumps
The plan of the house,
The body in bed,
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 riverbanks talks
Of the waters of March
It's the promise of life,
It's the joy in your heart,
A snake, a stick,
It is John, it is Joe,
It's a thorn in your hand,
And a cut on your toe
A point, a grain,
A bee, a bite,
A blink, a buzzard,
The sudden stroke of night
A pin, a needle,
A sting, a pain,
A snail, a riddle,
A weep, a stain
A pass in the mountains
A horse, a mule,
In the distance the shelves
Rode three shadows of blue
And the riverbank talks
Of the promise of life
In your heart, in your heart
A stick, a stone,
The end of the load,
The rest of the stump,
A lonesome road
A sliver of glass,
A life, the sun,
A night, a death,
The end of the run
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain
It's the joy in your heart.
