All along the daughter, mother  w a t e r,

drink the walk, walk, walk-- the  t a l k,

and wait, wait, wait-- the  w a l k, 

the water. And the  h e a t 

can sweat the  w a l k i n g.

And the frost can  b i t e 

the cold, and talking of 

better days, and of redder  r a y s,

and the pop, pop, popping of the hail

upon the water, and it's hotter than the

sound, but it's better all around, round,

round, in a circle for  s p e e d,

in a whirlpool of  n e e d.

So the father lights

a candle, and it

burns down to the 

table. And the  f l a m e s,

and the blaze, and the  h o t, 

hot, hot. Where's the  w a t e r

now? Hotter now than ever, with the

matches, hatchets, patches... and snatches

of a song, the fog, the pond, the song.  Along

the wavy water. To dong the hazy thunder.

And you wonder, where's the--

Wait, you never  w a v e d,

Or  w a t c h e d

The winter



The End

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