St. Stephen

St. Stephen with a rose, in and out of the garden he goes

Country garden in the wind and the rain

Where ever he goes, the people all complain

Stephen prospered in his time, well he may and he may decline

Did it matter, does it now? Stephen would answer if he only knew how

A wishing well with a golden bell

Bucket hanging clear to hell

Hell halfway twixt now and then

Stephen fill it up and lower down and lower down again

Lady Finger, dipped in moonlight

Writing, what for, across the morning sky

Sunlight splatters, dawn with answer

Darkness shrugs and bids the day goodbye

Speeding arrow, sharp and narrow

What a lot of fleeting matters you have spurned

Several seasons with their treasons

Wrap the babe in scarlet covers, call it your own

Did he doubt or did he try?

Answers a plenty in the by and by

Talk about your plenty and talk about your ills

One man gathers what another man spills

St. Stephen will remain, all he lost, he shall regain

Seashore washed by the suds and the foam

Been there so long, he's got to calling it home

Fortune comes a crawling

Calliope woman

Spinning that curious sense of your own

Can you answer? Yes, I can

But what would be the answer to the answer man?