There's a wrinkle in the water Where we laid our first daughter And I think the wind blows so sweetly there. Over there. And the windows and the cinders And the willows in the timbers. The infernal rattling of the rain Still remains. "But I," said the bachelor to the bride, "Am not waiting for tonight. No, I, I will box your ears And leave you here stripped bare, Stripped bare." Hear the corncrakes and the deerhooves And the sleet rain on the slate roof. A medallion locked inside her hands. In her hands. And his fingers, are they telling Of the barren of her belly? Do his calluses cure her furrowed brow, Even now? "But I," said the bachelor to the bride, "Am not waiting for tonight. No, I, I will box your ears And leave you here stripped bare, Stripped bare." "But I," said the bachelor to the bride, "Am not waiting for tonight. No, I, I will box your ears And take your tears And leave you, leave you here Stripped bare."
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