Saint Stephen with a rose

In and out of the garden he goes

Country garland in the wind and the rain

Wherever he goes the people all complain



Stephen prosper in his time

Well he may and he may decline

Did it matter? does it now?

Stephen would answer if he only knew how



Wishing well with a golden bell

Bucket hanging clear to hell

Hell halfway twixt now and then

Stephen fill it up and lower down

And lower down again



Lady finger dipped in moonlight

Writing `what for?' across the morning sky

Sunlight splatters dawn with answers

Darkness shrugs and bids the day goodbye



Speeding arrow, sharp and narrow,

What a lot of fleeting matters you have spurned

Several seasons with their treasons

Wrap the babe in scarlet covers call it your own



Did he doubt or did he try?

Answers aplenty in the bye and bye


Talk about your plenty, talk about your ills

One man gathers what another man spills



Saint Stephen will remain

All he's lost he shall regain

Seashore washed by the suds and the foam

Been here so long he's got to calling it home



Fortune comes a crawlin, Calliope woman

Spinning that curious sense of your own

Can you answer? Yes I can,

but what would be the answer to the answer man? 



High green chilly winds and windy vines in loops around 

the

twining shafts of lavender, they're crawling to the sun



Underfoot the ground is patched with climbing arms of 

ivy

wrapped around the manzanita, stark and shiny in the 

breeze



Wonder who will water all the children of the garden 

when they

sigh about the barren lack of rain and droop so hungry 

'neath the

sky...