Slow Moon's Rose - Slapp Happy

Now that the slow moon's rose

on a silver trellis grows,

Where artic rivers froze,

now that the ocean is frozen in motion,

Snow morning comes.

And the birds on the wing

have nothing left to sing,

blown in blue glass

like a schooner held fast

on the ice.

Besides that river

Where I picked the slow moon's rose -

I watched the evening wither

with a jewel at the end of my nose.

Tell-tale snails leave their trails,

running from hunters' black blunderbus

under the sun.

Besides that river

Where I picked the slow moon's rose -

I watched the evening wither

with a jewel at the end of my nose.

Tell-tale snails leave their trails,

running from hunters' black blunderbus

under the sun.