Saint Stephen

Saint Stephen with a rose
In and out of the garden he goes
Country garden in the wind and the rain
Wherever 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

Wishing well with a golden bell
Bucket is hanging clear to 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 answers
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 colors
Call it your own

Did he doubt or did he try?
Answers aplenty in the by and by
Talk about your plenty, talk about your ills
One man gathers what another man spills

Saint Stephen shall remain
All he lost he shall regain
Seashore washed by the suds and foam
Been there so long
He's got to calling it home

Fortune comes a crawlin', calliope woman
Spinnin' that curious sense of your own
Can you answer? Yes I can!
But what would be the answer
To the answer man?