My illness was love

I peeled bits o straws & I got switches too
From the grey peeling willow as idlers do
& I switched at the flies as I sat all alone
Till my flesh blood & marrow wasted to the dry bone

My illness was love though I knew not the smart
But the beauty o love was the blood o my heart

Willow switches I broke & I peeled bits o straws
Ever lonely in crowds in natures own laws

My ballroom the pasture my music the bees
My drink was the fountain my church the tall trees
Whoever would love or be tied to a wife
When it makes a man mad all the days of his life

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