AND IT FLOWS

PUSHING MY THUMB INTO THE CENTER OF THE CLAY,

I PULL OUT AND UP AND OVER

PUSHING UP THRU THE SOIL TO THE SUN,

WILL I BE DAISY OR CLOVER

RISING AT THREE AM, PEN IN MY HAND,

HERE COMES ANOTHER BRAIN STORM

RISING UP OUT OF MY INATTENTION,

ANOTHER TALE TAKES IT'S FORM

AND IT FLOWS FROM THE MOMENT

AND IT FLOWS THROUGH MY HANDS TO YOU

AND IT FLOWS IN GREAT ABUNDANCE

AND IT KNOWS WHAT I MEAN... BEFORE I DO

REVEALING THE GRAIN THROUGH HOURS OF WORKING,

THE WOOD TELLS ME WHAT I WILL MAKE IT

REVEALING THE TRUTH THROUGH HOURS OF THINKING,

MY CHARACTER WON'T LET ME FAKE IT

GROWING THE FOOD THAT YOU'RE EATING TONIGHT,

I TILL AND I FEED THE SOIL

GROWING A WRITER, AN ARTIST, A LOVER,

REQUIRES NO LESS TOIL

chorus

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© Leslie Frederick 1999