The Big Huge

The dust of the rivers does murmur and weep Hard and sharp laughter that cuts to the bone Ah, but ever face within your face does show Going gladly now to give himself his own And twelve yellow willows shall fellow the shallows Small waves and thunde

A long wind a weaving mind Over all the land the wild flowers grow, Echoing kind to kind On that day when I found the iron stone Heavy in my hand in the sloping rain Ever the seas rolled on and o'er my heart They roofed their slates of grey The iron