Águas de Março

For Poe tree friday: Águas de Março (The Waters of March) by the late Brazilian composer Tom Jobim.

The painting is by Paul Klee

Remembra in Brazil, in the Southern Demisphere, Marco, March, is the end of summer.

To hear it beautifully sung by the late Elis Regina click on this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3oNSFQVzNM

The Waters of March

A stick, a stone,

it's the end of the road

It's the rest of a stump,

it's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass, it is life,

it's the sun

It is night, it is death,

it's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms,

a fox in the brush

The knot in the wood,

the song of a thrush

The wood of the wind,

a cliff, a fall

A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope

It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks of the waters of March

It's the end of the strain,

It's the joy in your heart

The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone

The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone

A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light

A shot of a gun in the dead of the night

A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,

It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps .

The plan of the house, the body in bed

And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud

A float, a drift, a flight, a wing

A hawk, a quail, oh, the promise of spring

And the river bank talks of the waters of March

It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart