Working alone in the evening sun
A man and two horses come
Pulling a plough on the far hillside
Till day is done
And the sun has died
And leaves are turning yellow
In my hair
…in my hair
And as time passes through my hands
I know one day I’ll be that man
The horse’s eye is full of trust
And easy humor in the dust
I love the horse and I love the earth
The lonely plough is giving birth
And leaves are turning yellow
In my hair
…in my hair
And now I am a great big man
I work alone far from that land
The plough moves deep inside my veins
But someone else now holds the reins
The shadow steals across the hill
And falls upon the paper mill
The men inside come streaming out
And the valley echoes with their shout
Echoes in the lonely bars
And by the silent reservoir
And leaves are turning yellow
In my hair
…in my hair
…turning yellow in my hair
…turning yellow in my hair
…turning yellow in my hair
…turning yellow in my hair
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness
They have gladly come out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their
Happiness that we have come
They bow shyly as wet swans.
They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts
Of spring in the darkness
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand
She is black and white
Her mane falls wild on her forehead
And the light breeze moves me
To caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body
I would break in the blossom
