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 cares 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