Sing a call to the mourning dove
Over the prairie, through the hills
I hear it still in the singing of the bread
From your lips which splashed my dull house
With music

I went out walkin’ in the wood
By a river which never sleeps
All I bare, all I sieve
I thought of you so presently

I dreamt of the warmest days of our love
Which knew not sorrow nor betrayal
When truth was will in the singing of the gale
And when I lay in this verdant field
None can stay my rising

I went out walkin’ in the wood
Light cast long from the moon
Life is short as a breath half taken
I could not wait to tell you the truth
I have been waiting on you