WEBVTT

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The Season.

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I know what calls the
Devil from the pits.

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With a thief's fingers
there he slouches and sits.

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I've seen him passing on a
frenzied mare, bitter-eyed

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on her haunches out to stare.

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He rides her cruel
and he rides her easy.

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Come along spring, come along
sun, come along field daisy.

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Smell the foxy babies,
smell the hunting dog.

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The shes have whelped, the cocks
and hens have lost their wits.

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And cry, "Why," cry
the spring peepers,

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"Why," each little frog.

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He rides her cruel
and he rides her easy.

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Come along spring, come along
sun, come along field daisy.

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