In the vineyard the black bull stands with his famously intent gaze all others may be at their ease for he is keeper of his place bright force illuminates the hand in great haste the world was made the earth itself strains back to God's red wings the flame tree grows right up to them the persimmon and the talking snake and flesh to flesh was heaven then but oh the precious rest of death and buried in the church yard too the glare of life will all undo and childhood will reign again