Black and blistered,

Feeble and tumbling,

Through the fables and mouths of man,

Remember the August sun and the reign of March.

Spinning the clothesline,

Pushing and pulling from the wishing well.

Put a sock in my mouth to keep me from whispering.

Drum my eyes shut, pack up my head and go.

Where are you going tomorrow?

What is your name today?

Give me a mouthful so I can whisper in your ear.

Leave me something now, something on the path unknown.

I'm rushing right after you.