Lyrics

Cut from the green hedge a forked hazel stick That he held tight by the arms of the V: Circling the terrain, hunting the pluck Of water, nevious, but professionally Unfussed. The pluck came sharp as a sting. The rod jerked with precise convulsions, Spring water suddenly broadcasting Through a green hazel its secret stations. The bystanders would ask to have a try. He handed them the rod without a word. It lay dead in their grasp till nonchalantly He gripped expectant wrists. The hazel stirred.