Waters of March

(Portuguese: “Águas de março”) 1972 Antonio Carlos Jobim
A stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road
It’s the rest of a stump, it’s a little alone
…

The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
A 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
…