A radio in a greenhouse
Church bell strikes for one
The man who says hello to random strangers
Beneath the pastel winter sun
The calling of the robin
Searching for a mate
While wounded walls of limestone
Cradle rusted iron gates
Feeling pastoral
'Neath the pastel winter sun
Under lonely hidden bridges
Waters slip, swollen by the rains
Racing to the towns below
Downstream floods will flow
Thus winter life is so
Thus winter life is so