Submitted by:  Eve West Bessier, 9/26/07
This entry relates to past and present
Category(ies) of this entry:  Song


Note:  The original 1974 recording of "Aguas de Marco" (Waters of March) can be heard on the 1994 compilation, "Verve Jazz Masters 13: Antonio Carlos Jobim."


 
A drip, a drone.
It's the ring of the phone.
A the window shade down.
It is water on stone.
It's a walk in the shade.
The oaks.  The road.
It is loud.  It is dirt.
It's a little too old.

The croak of a toad.
The weight of the loan.
It's the man in a suit.
It's the dog with the bone.
The ball on the street.
A cube of ice.
A blink.  A sigh.
On the train all alone.

It's the clamor of noon.
It's the swelling of feet.
Ice cream.  Tabloid.
It's lunch.  It's sweet.
And the air stream is cool
On the back of your neck.
It's the water for thirst.
It's the plunge in the pool.

The salt.  The dry.
The where.  The why.
It's the people you meet.
The reason to try.
A fish, a frog.
The tear in your eye.
A talk.  A kite.
It's the mockingbird's cry.


A siren at dawn.
In the gray morning light.
The sheets all in knots.
It's the heat.  It's the night.
A buzz.  A bee.
A beer.  A quail.
A map.  Ice tea.
The end of the rail.

A truckload of beets
In the curve of a turn.
The glint of the glass.
It's the language you learn.
A weed.  A bone.
A smile.  A dance.
It's a bell.  It's a bowl.
It's a plane.  It's a chance.
The plan of the town.
The beat of the drum.
The bike.  The flat.
It's the heat.  It's the hum.

A boat.  A drain.
A wing.  A hawk.
A dove.  A note.
It's the longing to talk.

The shirt on your back
The salt on your skin.
It's the beat of the sun.
It's the mood that you're in.

A dime.  A door.
A book.  A shoe.
It's a rose in the vase,
It's the looking at you.


A chair.  A shout.
A crow.  A bark.
A nail.  A buzzard.
A train in the dark.

It's rice.  It's corn.
A lie.  A fact.
A drink.  A bite.
A leaf blower attack.

The blue of TV
In the cooling of night.
The bang of a door
In the pale of a fight.

And the weather man talks
Of a hundred and ten.
It's the paying of bills.
It's the mailman again.

A drip, a drone.
It's the ring of the bone.
It's the window shade down.
It is feeling alone.
It's a walk in the shade.
Under oaks.  On the road.
It is fresh.  It is old.
It's the song of a toad.

The tomato fields bloom
Like a desert of red.
It's the heat.  It's the heat.
In your head. In your head.
Eve West Bessier       
324 East 8th Street
Davis, CA  95616
(530) 756-6021  
lifecoacheve@yahoo.com