Bitter wind whipping up my trouble
Why you gotta blow this way?
Why you gotta fan the fray?
I gather up my shoulders
to shield my heart
my warmest part
Pieces pushed down at withering cost
How many seasons
of love have been lost?
terrified to look on now that I
cut back the dead wood
to see what survives
Haven’t you heard?
the word is, these years all told
I have grown cold
But don’t you know
We cannot grow on stones alone
Winter highlights the subtleties
the grayer skies
the deader trees
Crimson berries that would vanish in July
stand out against the starkness
like a bald-faced lie
Haven’t you heard?
the word is, these years all told
I have grown cold
But don’t you know
We cannot grow on stones alone
Haven’t you heard?
the word is, these years all told
I have grown cold
But don’t you know
We cannot grow on stones alone
(starved for sun and loam)
