Jehtro Tull

Acres Wild



I"ll make love to you
  in all good places
  under black mountains
  in open spaces.
By deep brown rivers
  that slither darkly
  through far marches
  where the blue hare races.

Come with me to the Winged Isle ---
  northern father"s western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
  through far marches of acres wild.

I"ll make love to you
  in narrow side streets
  with shuttered windows,
  crumbling chimneys.

Come with me to the weary town ---
  discos silent under tiles
  that slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
  on concrete marches of acres wild.

By red bricks pointed
  with cement fingers
Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.

Come with me to the Winged Isle ---
  northern father"s western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
  through far marches of acres wild.