no need for searching

what's gone into deep spaces will stay lost
there's nothing here allows us to recover
and what we always do is pay full cost

on this fine day we've gone right past the frost
this is the season of the friend and lover
what's gone into deep spaces will stay lost

the coin lands on its edge when tossed
no secrets left for wise ones to uncover
and what we always do is pay full cost

we do our jobs there's no need to be bossed
no spirit at our shoulders waits to hover
what's gone into deep spaces will stay lost

old treebark that for long days has been mossed
still hangs on bare wood as a simple cover
and what we always do is pay full cost

no messages will in this space be crossed
no new things will we for now discover
what's gone into deep spaces will stay lost
and what we always do is pay full cost

hourof the rabbit

vanishing words mean more than can be said
triumphant symbols of a world gone sour
the living have much in common with the dead

takes more than hair to make someone a dread
beneath their helmets even the strong cower
vanishing words mean more than can be said

promiscuous colours come down to plain red
at night we're woken by the sudden shower
the living have much in common with the dead

each day we struggle for some crumbs of bread
yet a small cottage trumps the greatest tower
vanishing words mean more than can be said

from here to there all vagrant thoughts are sped
casualties of what seems a wayward power
the living have much in common with the dead

at last we've triumphed inside each wary head
this is we deem fate's long-awaited hour
vanishing words mean more than can be said
the living have much in common with the dead

magnolias and cloudless sky

we do not know where goes what we sent forth
this day that blesses us with radiant hue
of spring not winter while the bitter north

gets what is seen as the season's normal due
the bitter cold and driving wind and rain
that's not what we see here not what's new

the season that we have is marked by pain
in other places here we've got it nice and warm
and yet we've got the same old stress and strain

we sense that this mild winter's not the norm
we're not so bold this blessing to reject
for once we're out of all the flood and storm

time's chosen a taste of spring to interject
into our lives to give us some new hope
before we dive into some new project

the year's still climbing on its upward slope
new demons we will with no effort find
but with the old we can for this time cope

not because we've made ourselves so blind
as not to see what's right before each nose
but with the weather all our thoughts turn kind

it's not so easy as some might suppose
who've never had to face the normal task
but will their naive conceptions interpose

we can't do anything if we don't get to ask
how to improve the things that we have got
but honesty can sometimes be a mask

for what turns out to be a thorough rot
of all our hopes and all our true desires
there's nothing that now clearly marks the spot

where all the embers burst into new fires
and all the fireflies lit up young boy's jars
all obstacles turned into mere pismires

and all our faces looked up at the stars