Here's a bit more—and a couple of corrections:

SEEDS OF THE PINE
Martha Scanlan

Rains fell cold through June.
Grass is up to my thigh.
Say if it dries up, it'll burn just like the moon.
Say it opens up the seeds of the pine.

I only want to dream about you,
The dollar that could spend but I should save.
Just to see my fingers in your hair,
The golden wheat around us and beneath us where we lay.

You're a slow ride down a country mile.
You're the smell of apple pie to the blind.
You're the last light on a July western sky.
You're the center of the watermelon. You're a sweet, sweet smile.

Cottonwoods shakin' in the breeze,
Surrounded by a starry sky.
Easy to forgive the things we need.
Easy to stumble around mostly blind.

I could tell you not to come in from the storm.
I could tell you not to be so kind.
I could tell you not to close the door.
I could say I never wanted you for mine.

Rains fell cold through June.
Grass is up to my thigh.
Say if it dries up, it'll burn just like the moon.
Say it opens up the seeds of the pine.
Say it opens up the seeds of the pine.
Say it opens up the seeds of the pine.


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See Serotiny at Wikipedia.