Spring

The wind is pushing the clouds along
 Out of sight
 A power is putting them away
 A power that moves things neurotically
 Like a widow with a rosary
 And everything is awing and tired of praise
 And mountains don't need my accolades
 And spring looks bad lately anyway
 Like death warmed over
 And the bantam is preening madly
 Waiting for the light of day
 And all I want to do
 Is to make love
 To you
 With a careless mind
 With a careless, careless mind
 With a careless, careless mind
 Who care's what's mine?
 With a careless, careless, careless mind
 We call it Spring though things are dying
 Connected to the land like a severed hand
 And I see our house on a hill
 On a clear blue morning
 When I am out walking
 My eyes are still forming
 The door I walk through
 And I see
 The true Spring is in you
 The true Spring is in you
 My wide worlds collide
 And mind wide words collide
 And seasons kaleidoscoping
 And all I want to do
 All I want to do
 Is to make love
 To you
 In the fertile dirt
 In the fertile dirt
 With a careless mind
 With a careless, careless, careless mind