Dirth of Tilth
Lyrics
Never more than seven Aprils Are selected at a time The least of these removed Reluctantly subdued That I might find Rosewater in my cup But don't let up And don't let on
Mountains that are lime green pouring Over furrows in the brow Occasional response Yet what I really want Is losing What I've kept concealed in here Oh, it's not mine But don't let on
If it makes a better letter Why not write it at the fair? You tell her what you got Then she'd dismiss the thought Of rear You occur to see, her nest awaits Whatever comes But don't let on
