Richard
Buxton .
SONG .
S
some hot traveller
Going
through
stones
and
sands ,
Who
sees clear water
stir
Amid
the weary
lands ,
Takes
in his hollowed
hands
The clean
and
lively water
That
trickles
down
his
throat
Like laughter , like
laughter ,
So, when
you
come
to me
Across
these
parched
places
And
all
the waste
I
see
Flowered
with
your
graces
,
I
take
between
my
hands
Your
face
like
a
rare
cup
Where kisses mix
with
laughter
And
drink
and
drink
them
up
Like
laughter
,
like laughter
.