the moon is a man who walks with open hands
down an empty narrow valley And
may is a way to say horray! here are the flowers
and here are the lovers, but don't be bothered
by the moon he's just and old restless spirit
(and spring is only a simple season) attached to the stern
of night's mortality And who is the me there
say in the waves waving so tiredly
so zealously but the you I and all of everything everywhere