As i wind down the pines
It's the lines on your face
Playing on your face.
Without thinking so much
As abandoning thought
I went through open country
Over water meadow streams
Lakes and wires and roosts in reeds
To a nest in the hole of
This dead
Tree.
To play without stopping or pause
Not for silence not for applause
Not without thinking
And thinking's abandoning thought.
As i wind down the pines
It's the lines on your face
Playing on your face.
