It’s not such a great life
No matter how
The miners son
Might try to put that one across
No, out here in open country
No more spinsters to wait for
No more soldiers from the war
No more hens in the coop
Only headlights
Petroleum exhausts
Only midnight frosts
That I skip across
With the hungry crunch
Of the silence underfoot
Pavement to the post office
Cold clean air
How did the advertisement go
Consulate
Menthol fresh
Cool as a mountain stream
I walked through that air
My long overcoat hanging loose
My untidy hair
Not combed for days
I heard the silence of the rooftops
The kerbside cars all off to work
I heard my footsteps
Took stock of all at once
Clear in my mind
That the fresh breath
And the chilled trickling waters
Are not far from Bluestone Ridge
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