now there's full green and truly honest leaf
on both our maples so we say the spring
has really come and hearts may duly sing
of happy changes and complete relief
for though we know that every joy is brief
and what hard messages each day may bring
for this short time at least some bells should ring
allowing us forgetfulness of grief
what we each know is not all that is known
beneath the sun of that at least i'm sure
there's more to life than simple blood and bone
nor is the world one giant ghastly tomb
for see the rose and iris are in bloom

so many long to have a golden king
for certainties amid the roil and noise
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

in urgent times  there is nothing to bring
that will secure against what most annoys
so many long to have a golden king

as being for now the most important thing
to guarantee the safety of their joys
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

of better hours when they were on the wing
and deadly forces were not kept as toys
so many long to have a golden king

who do not wish their liberty to fling
so cavalierly with such little poise
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

since all the world is trapped inside one ring
and none can tell just what the rest enjoys
so many long to have a golden king
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

few are the leaves and buds late on these trees
that heart grows weak and even time might ail
as weathers slowly change while the clouds sail
above our heads driven by random breeze
towards the east nothing that wants to please
our needy minds as this brief cold must fail
the warmth return before our hopes turn stale
and just in time our anger turn to ease
but in the night some matters are too deep
for ordinary dreams and break my rest
to let me know that there is no mistake
relief shall not be granted by kind sleep
the warmth of bed is not a comfy nest
but there are worse fates than coming awake

we cycle round and mark another year
when spring has come and buds are on the tree
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

what started in my heart as just a dare
(a challenge against fate) has come to be
we cycle round and mark another year

with greater hope and more reasons for care
as darker odours join the potpourri
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

but time's a gift that we don't have to spare
nor is good chance coming upon the sea
we cycle round and mark another year

by blending vacant smile and distant stare
with swift refusal of the things we see
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

those are the givens and all else is smear
upon the screen of life we cannot flee
we cycle round and mark another year
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

the echoes never cease in time
so we are stuck on the cliff face
losers without redeeming grace


those farts that in primordial slime
began old evolution's race
(the echoes never cease in time)


now seem to us divine sublime
but were just stinks in some dark place
far from the light or so we trace
the echoes never cease in time

so much is wanted but what we must ask
is for the measure that cannot be told
by ordinary creatures at their task
of making worlds to fit the human mould
beyond the which we could not be consoled
but asked for pity and received no share
of what was paid except this empty air
so turning we discerned no further bar
to our escaping save a simple stair
the crescent mirror and the morning star

you give a good account behind your mask
of where the trail was good and where just cold
no warmth remains except within the flask
nor any honour that's not paid with gold
right on the table where the hearts are sold
while every victim hears the case is fair
and yet the axe does not strike unaware
there's no part of the process that's bizarre
while far above our unbowed heads there stare
the crescent mirror and the morning star

in balmier times we might hope to bask
in the approval of the good and bold
enjoy the plaudits while we broach the cask
and wonder why a single voice would scold
instead the angry lessons are unrolled
as every back is loaded down with care
nor is there chance of freedom anywhere
that foolish interlopers hope to mar
beyond the chances of the normal player
the crescent mirror and the morning star

prince in the end you won't respond to prayer
as no petition has the sort of flair
to touch the souls of palace and bazaar
yet you must go to where the boldest dare
the crescent mirror and the morning star

the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
tall is the tree and strong deep is its root
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

honest men speak against all that appalls
their work is constant though most rare its fruit
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

for just one instant fools delay their brawls
and bow their heads honour may touch the brute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

at loss of friend we make our little calls
shed our few tears and learn it's absolute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

whether in calmness of the lecture-halls
or broadcasting to folk on their commute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

knowing the silence that finally hauls
his voice away we cannot refute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
at end of day even the staunchest bawls