Here, on the last day of winter, are the lyrics of one of my favorite songs, "The Waters of March" by Antonio Carlos Jobim. If you know the song, you'll find yourself bopping along to these words. If you aren't familiar with this Brazilian classic, I've provided three links at the bottom of the page for your listening pleasure.

A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road

It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone 

It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun 

It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun 

The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush 

A knot in the wood, the song of a thrush 

The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall 

A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all 

It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope 

It's a beam it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope 

And the river bank talks of the waters of March 

It's the end of the strain 

The joy in your heart 

The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone 

The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone 

A fish, a flash, a silvery glow 

A fight, a bet the fange of a bow 

The bed of the well, the end of the line 

The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find 

A spear, a spike, a point, a nail 

A drip, a drop, the end of the tale 

A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light 

The sound of a shot in the dead of the night 

A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump, 

It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps 

The plan of the house, the body in bed 

And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud 

A float, a drift, a flight, a wing 

A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring 

And the river bank talks of the waters of March 

It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart 

A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road 

It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone 

A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe 

It's a thorn in your hand and a cut in your toe 

A point, a grain, a bee, a bite 

A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night 

A pin, a needle, a sting a pain 

A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain 

A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule 

In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue 

And the river talks of the waters of March 

It's the promise of life in your heart 

A stick, a stone, the end of the road 

The rest of a stump, a lonesome road 

A sliver of glass, a life, the sun 

A knife, a death, the end of the run 

And the river bank talks of the waters of March.

It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart.

Click here to hear my favorite version, a studio recording with Antonio Carlos Jobim (also known as Tom) and Elis Regina sung in Portugese. 

Click here to watch Jobim at the piano singing in English with five wiggly women on backup. 

Or click here to listen to a zippier version sung by Basia.