<Buffalo Springfield> page <Last Time Arround> album page |
The Hour Of Not Quite RainIn the hour of not quite rainwhen the fog was fingertip high The moon hung suspended in a singular sky Deeply and beyond seeing not wishing to intrude Bathed in its own reflection the water mirrored the moon The tumbling birds have now sobered from the leaves of their nursery Like shadowy, quiet children watching sleepily |