Águas de Março

Your Host & the Husband circa 1980

A stick, a stone,

It's the end of the road,

It's the rest of a stump,

It's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass,

It is life, it's the sun,

It is night, it is death,

It's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms,

A fox in the brush,

A knot in the wood,

The song of a thrush

The wood of the wind,

A cliff, a fall,

A scratch, a lump,

It is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free,

It's the end of the slope,

It's a beam, it's a void,

It's a hunch, it's a hope

& the river bank talks

Of the waters of March,

It's the end of the strain,

The joy in your heart

The foot, the ground,

The flesh & the bone,

The beat of the road,

A slingshot's stone

A fish, a flash,

A silvery glow,

A fight, a bet,

The range of a bow

The bed of the well,

The end of the line,

The dismay in the face,

It's a loss, it's a find

A spear, a spike,

A point, a nail,

A drip, a drop,

The end of the tale

A truckload of bricks

In the soft morning light,

The shot of a gun

In the dead of the night

A mile, a must,

A thrust, a bump,

It's a girl, it's a rhyme,

It's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house,

The body in bed,

& the car that got stuck,

It's the mud, it's the mud

Afloat, adrift,

A flight, a wing,

A hawk, a quail,

The promise of spring

& the riverbank talks

Of the waters of March,

It's the promise of life

It's the joy in your heart

A stick, a stone,

It's the end of the road

It's the rest of a stump,

It's a little alone

A snake, a stick,

It is John, it is Joe,

It's a thorn in your hand

& a cut in your toe

A point, a grain,

A bee, a bite,

A blink, a buzzard,

A sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle,

A sting, a pain,

A snail, a riddle,

A wasp, a stain

A pass in the mountains,

A horse & a mule

In the distance the shelves

Rode 3 shadows of blue

& the riverbank talks

Of the waters of March,

It's the promise of life

In your heart, in your heart

A stick, a stone,

The end of the road,

The rest of a stump,

A lonesome road

A sliver of glass,

A life, the sun,

A knife, a death,

The end of the run

& the riverbank talks

Of the waters of March,

It's the end of all strain,

It's the joy in your heart.

Jobim

1971