The rain came

To grow two baby lovers needing love.

And then they grew so tall,

Even God himself was smiling.

For he had put them there

And given them love to share.

And they went riding on milkwhite steeds,

Like sister and brother.

At first she’d loved him like a child.

Then something sweeter filled her soul within—

Something that had never been before…

The sun came

To bloom two blooming lovers needing love.

For they had grown so tall,

Even God himself was smiling.

For he had put them there

And given them love to share.

And they went riding on milkwhite steeds,

Like sister and brother.

At first he’d loved her like a child.

Then something sweeter filled his soul within—

Something that had never been before…

The moon came

To caress two grown up lovers needing love.

For they had grown so tall,

Even God himself was smiling.

I walked many roads.

On the way I met rebuffs.

Then I turned and met some smiles.

So many eyes.

So many ways of seeing things.

Amid them all, I lost myself.

So many eyes,

So many ways of seeing things.

And then a tree leaned out toward the moon.

So many eyes,

So many ways of seeing things.

And then I heard a cry.

And it echoed down the road,

“The eye that’s single only sees.”

And then I turned and ran to greet the child I was

Come back to talk to me.

It was so beautiful!

For she was wise, and she had love.

And a certain highly seasoned, knowing twinkle in her eye.

Two gypsies in love—

Milady and I.

It seemed so funny then.

But now that time has stretched my view,

And I remember all the highs—the plains and places that we knew—

I know how rich it was,

Milady and I.

Milady and I!

How the years have flown

Since each new day would open high,

And float from high to higher still, and never tell you why.

Those days have turned to gold—

Milady and I.

How the tears did flow,

For she and I passed each other by.

And it’s not important now, I know, but still I often sigh

One of those sighs.

Milady and I.

“You got forty-nine years in jail, son,”

That’s what the judge said to Buckeye Jim.

“There’s got to be a way to tell you,

You can’t go shootin’ ‘em down,

Even if they was your lover.”

It was a hot Summer night in the pool hall—

That’s where Buckeye Jim hung around—

Oklahoma Buckeye Jim

Used to hustle a lady with a beauty mark.

But with a crooked little smile she crossed him—

That’s why Buckeye Jim bought a gun—

And, smiling too, he took her life,

And they led him off to jail with a broken heart.

“You got forty-nine years in jail, son,”

That’s what the judge said to Buckeye Jim.

“There’s got to be a way to show you,

You can’t go shootin’ ‘em down,

Even if they was your lover.”

“I can hear her little voice in my sleep now—”

That’s what Buckeye Jim told the judge—

“If only I could have her back now,

I would fly and sing like a meadowlark”

“Well, you got forty-nine years to think about that,”

That’s what the judge said to Buckeye Jim.

“There’s gotta be a way to show you,

You can’t go shootin’ ‘em down,

Even if they was your lover.

“You got forty-nine years to think about it, son,”

That’s what the judge said to Buckeye Jim,

“There’s got to be a way to show you,

You can’t go shootin’ ‘em down,

Even if they was your lover.”

“June, bringer of joy,

Is the child of rain, April and May,

As every laugh is the child of pain.

Trees, bringers of life,

Are the dying green from which they grow,

As every seed of the pasture knows.”

So the wizard did sing, watching the pendulum swing.

The doctors of Providence had a great fall,

And the wizard just sat and laughed at them all.

And he sang,

“So it shall be

April to June—turning to rain—

As with the waves in the sea.

“Music in your ear

Is the toil of love gathering soul

As every birth is the child of toil

“He who can no longer love,

He never did love,

As every drop in the sky will prove.”

So the wizard did sing, watching the pendulum swing.

Ah the doctors of Providence had a great fall,

And the wizard just sat and laughed at them all.

And he sang,

“So it shall be,

Music to toil—toil to song—

As with the waves in the sea.

“June bringer of joy,

Is the child of rain, April and May,

As every laugh is the child of pain.

“Trees, bringers of life,

Are the dying green from which they grow,

As every seed of the pasture knows.”

Looking for peace of mind,

An old vagabond found some land.

He found a river flowing

And some gold upon the sand.

He saw in his mind such a perfect design

For a castle to withstand the years of turmoil that would make it hard…

To live so he could learn to love,

And love so he could learn to live.

Live, so he could learn to love,

And love, so he could learn to live.

He saw in his mind such a perfect design

For a castle to withstand the years of turmoil that would make it hard.

Day and night he raised his outlook—

Wayward will in hand.

Kicking off their shoes of clay,

His feet moved quickly with his plan.

Sailing the stream of his fate, soon he saw

Only fools would change it, so he gave it room to flow that he might…

Live so he could learn to love,

And love so he could learn to live.

Live so he could learn to love,

And love so he could learn to live.

Sailing the stream of his fate, soon he saw

Only fools would change it, so he gave it room to flow.

He found a kindred soul

As ancient as his own.

A spirit came to fill them

With a purpose and a song.

Two thirsty pilgrims, they sang this new song.

And the spirit which had filled them drew their kindred souls along, that they might…

Live so they could learn to love,

And love that they might learn to live.

Live that they might learn to love,

And love so they could learn to live.

In the morning when the sun first sees your weary eyes,

A windy rustling at your window takes you by surprise.

There seems to be a presence there—

A wisp of some forgotten air—

Whispering an old Irish melody, ah!

But it’s a long way to Ireland

To O’Farrel and McGuire land

Such a long time since old days were young

In the old turf-made fire land.

But memories twinkle from a clover hill

Downwind of dawn where time is standing still.

When you look through your window on a Summer dawn

And feel reflections of romance from an Irish song

Coming at you from behind—

Here to dabble with your mind—

Wisps of love through some old Irish tune, ah!

But it’s long way to Ireland

To O’Farrel and McGuire land

Such a long time since old days were young

In the old turf-made fire land.

Such a long way to Ireland!

The ways I love you never end.

Like rhymes that grow—

Inside they play so softly, like a hummingbow—

An endless flow.

These ways prevail.

Like wind, they fill an empty sail.

And, like the sail, go with the changes in the wind.

And they always will.

But if the ways I love you ever end,

Then rhymes and bows

Will cease to play forever,

And the tunes they know will cease to flow.

But these ways prevail.

Like wind, they fill an empty sail.

And, like the sail, go wih the changes in the wind.

And they always will.

The ways I love you never end.

They bless us still.

Hold me close and listen for the hummingbow.

For still they flow.

I love you still.

Thanks for the way you broke my heart,

For the sadness in my soul,

For the cracks all through me,

They call me Humpty Dumpty Sam—

Ah, Humpty Dumpty Sam.

Rebuild me if you can.

Thanks for the beauty in your mind,

Though you left me here to pine.

It was a masterpiece so fine,

The way you blew my troubled mind.

Ah Humpty Dumpty Sam.

Rebuild me if you can.

And thanks for the way you made me feel,

For the love I thought was real,

For the chill that makes me peel,

And the wounds that will not heal.

Oh Humpty Dumpty Sam.

Rebuild me if you can.

And thanks for the way you said, “no more,”

And then walked right through that door.

For I fell upon the floor

Like I’d never done before.

Yeah Humpty Dumpty Sam.

Rebuild me if you can.

Thanks for the way we went so high,

For the tears that will not dry,

For the pain that will not die,

For my new smile that will not try.

Aw Humpty Dumpty Sam.

Rebuild me if you can.

You know what you know, you know.

So well you know what you know, you know.

You know what you know you know.

Knowing is now.

Now is knowing.

All the knowing that will ever be is now.

Resting in—

Now—

Knowing now—

Is peace.

Peace lies in knowing, you know—

Peace lies in knowing you know—

Loving now—

Now!

Sea Fever—

Down to the seas again.

Sea Fever—

Down to the seas again.

I must go down to the seas again—

To the lonely sea and the sky.

And all I ask is a tall ship

And a star to steer her by.

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song,

And the white sails shaking,

And a gray mist in the sea’s face

And a gray dawn breaking.

Sea Fever—

Down to the seas again.

Sea Fever—

Down to the seas again.

I must go down to the seas again—

To the vagrant gypsy life—

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way

Where the wind’s like a whetted knife.

And all I ask is a merry yarn

From a laughing fellow rover,

And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream

When the long trick is over.

Sea Fever—

Down to the seas again.

Sea Fever—

Down to the seas again.

Robin the troubadour

Never wrote words

But he wrote this tune

His guitar spoke his words

Robin was a young man

He didn’t live long

But he spent his few years

Writing music for songs

And he played them with love

Humble tunes that he knew

His fans were but few

But this tune they all knew

And he played for a king once

And bowed to the throne

And they gave him some bread

And some meat on a bone

And the kings throughout history

And the wars that they won

And their fortunes and fame

When their battles were done

Their deeds and their names

Are forgotten today

But young Robin the tunesmith

His tune spans the years

For men still recall it

And sing it with tears

His luck limped along

Dressed in feathers and tar

And Robin was never

A very bright star

But Robin the troubadour

Went very far

For he wrote this tune

On his olden guitar

Yea Robin the troubadour

Went very far

For he wrote this tune

On his olden guitar

I love you like the river and the stream

That keep on searching for the sea.

And my love is like the breeze

That sets you free and lets you be.

I love you like the sailor loves the sea

That gives his spirit room to breathe

And my love is like the breeze

That sets you free and lets you be.

And I see you shine in yonder willow,

In every leaf of every tree,

And in the way the morning moonset

Puts a blanket on the sea.

I love you like the leaf that clings all Winter long

Upon the icy tree

And I love you like the breeze

That sets you free and lets you be.

I love you like the stars that softly rise

And, in their silence, let you see.

And my love is like the breeze

That sets you free and lets you be.

And I see you shine in yonder willow,

In every leaf of every tree,

And in the way you chose to come to me—

Like a song that came to be.

I love you like the river and the stream

That keep on searching for the sea.

And my love is like the breeze

That sets you free and lets you be

 The reason for the summer rain

Has kissed His crown and will remain

And for those who had the time to spare

His word and His love were there

That they might hear the constellations calling

Radhasoami

And hear the echoes call

Radhasoami

And hear the echoes call

Radhasoami until the hills be filled

And they might know

He showed the humble men home

And He led them by the holy stone

And seeing all the love He showed

One reached out to touch His robe

That she might hear the constellations calling

Radhasoami

And hear the echoes call

Radhasoami

And hear the echoes call

Radhasoami until the hills be filled

And They might know

Radhasoami

And hear the echoes call

Radhasoami

And hear the echoes call

Radhasoami until the hills were filled

And they did know.

When I lie out on the grass,

I find comfort in the sound of blowing leaves.

It makes my heart grow light to hear the music that they make.

For they’re a part of me,

And I’m a part of them.

For I’m a scout,

And I atone upon this whirling, rocky stone.

I am alone—

Yet not alone—

For I have brothers on this rock

Where I was planted

And where I’m growing.

Like the leaf, I am a scout,

Blown by the wind to make my mark upon the world.

Though I’m weak, I’m also strong.

For I’ve the strength of all the scouts God put together

To heal away all weakness.

For I’m a scout,

And I atone upon this whirling, rocky stone.

I am alone—

Yet not alone—

For I have brothers on this rock

Where I was planted

And where I’m growing.

And with each day that I grow stronger,

Every scout grows stronger too because of me.

For like the leaf, I am connected to all branches and all trees.

For they’re a part of me,

And I’m a part of them.

For I’m a scout

And I atone upon this whirling, rocky stone.

I am alone—

yet not alone—

For I have brothers on this rock

Where I was planted

And where I’m growing.

A cloud was always there upon the shore,

Where I’d walked a hundred times before.

I thought I’d never see that shore,

And then a strange, enchanted song began to play me.

Symphony of song,

May your tune play on forever

And just sail away!

The song then sang a song—the cloud was gone—

A radiance rang and sang itself a song—

So mellow and so long—

And sang the theme for every melody to play on.

Symphony of song,

May your tune play on forever

And just sail away!

Uncle Billy was a worthwhile man,

And he did much to commend himself, you know.

He rose every day at half past six o’clock,

And, like a soldier, off to work he’d go.

He always seemed to know the proper way—

He planted seeds, and nursed them every day.

Should I be like him?

Uncle Billy’s plans began to grow.

The little empire started that he’d planned.

He grew all excited—and would celebrate—

At each new inroad he made in his land.

Brick by brick, he built his little walls—

One who doesn’t build is one who falls—

Should I be like him?

Hard working man,

Digging at sand,

Changing the shape of his land.

Well, Uncle Billy then grew old and died

And left a pension to his aging wife.

Then I made a trip to see—and to admire—

The fruit of Uncle Billy’s life.

Other men had pushed his walls aside,

Brand new trees had grown where his had died,

And none remembered him.

Now many say that I’m a worthwhile man—

That I do much to commend myself, you know.

Now I rise every day at half past six o’clock,

And, like a soldier, off to work I go.

Brick by brick I build my little walls—

One who doesn’t build is one who falls, you know,

And I’ve become like him!

 He walked a lonely road

In the autumn of his time

He was thin and pale

But patient and serene

And I, a troubadour

Sang him his favorite songs

As this holy man made his way along

Samuel, Samuel the blind

Stumbled and lingered far behind

Such a humble countenance

How his eyes would shine

Rapturously mad

As they spoke to the wind

And me

“And well you may know

The beauty of the truth

Which may with its brightness

Blind a man with eyes

Whereas the blind see the truth

In the knowledge of their eyes”

And he smiled at me

As he cast this leaf into the wind

Samuel, Samuel the blind

Stumbled and lingered far behind

His wrinkled fingers

Wrapped around his cane

How humbly he sat

And bowed his head and prayed

And he cried out

As the people went to mass

“The key to yourselves

Is inside yourselves

The temple is man

Not this stone and glass!”

But as none would hear him

He turned to address the wind

And me

“I’m Samuel

Samuel the blind

And though I stumble

And linger far behind

I can take you on a journey

Which once begun

Will never end

‘Til you know every star

And see all from the highest mountain

Where love is complete

And life is an infinite fountain.”

But the organ played

An old familiar song

So I turned and marched along to mass

And my temple became stone and glass

Think about the tiny shining memory of a dream,

With streams and meadows running free about your face.

Lighten up and brighten all the good-time tales,

Within the wells of wishing all tomorrows were the same as yesterday.

For time is kind and knows the way to say it’s over

When the clover turns to brown and blows away.

Think about the peaks of all the mountains in the sun.

See the beauty.

Then slow down to drink it long enough to find…

…That time is kind and knows the way to say it’s over

When the clover turns to brown and blows away.

Think about the love that fills the needs and dries the tears

Of every living breathing thing.

This you can do.

For time is kind and knows the way to say it’s over

When the clover turns to brown and blows away

Down through a violet ray, with a voice that made you stare,

A phantom came to play there in Bodega—

Where the day’s not just a day—

In Bodega—

For there the phantoms come to laugh and whisper secrets.

And if you listen you’re a fool,

But how they whisper!

In the morning light, as a mist played with the breeze,

I walked among the sand dunes of Bodega,

And every cypress tree was haunted in Bodega.

A phosphorescent glow inspired the air,

Where a perfect rounded rainbow kissed the sea…

It found me dreaming in the Lupine meadow,

Nectared with perfume,

Where twisting thoughts no longer twist

And wild music grows.

The surf played a symphony of copper blue—

In Bodega—

Crescendo on crescendo!

And so serene,

Dressed in sky of crystal blue, nature sang.

And for her stage, she chose the velvet on the dunes.

Her winged musicians came to croon

Her jackrabbit’s tune for the hopping buffoon,

Her lullaby to please the old raccoon.

But for the seagull, she wrote with the wind.

It was a long song,

And a strong song,

A never-stop, just-go-on song—

First a slide,

And then a glide,

And then a soaring in the sky upon a cottony gust,

To rise, and float and climb…

…‘Til the North Star met the rising moon.

And, as they rose above the hillside above Bodega,

They lit the ocean through the trees and filled Bodega!

And, as I watched them,

The old phantom flew away.