The long, tender arms of the prairie sun
Stretch and reach out to the vast, light blue sky
Larks and robins journey has just begun,
Not waiting for the day as they fly by.
The cool summer rain on the mountains face,
The silent rustling of the dark green leaves,
The eternal flow of the rivers pace,
Like the spiders constant and gentle weaves.
The endless ticking of the aged clock,
The constant sighing of the autumn trees,
The infinite waves beneath the worn dock,
Like the stars in the sky so old, so free.
The swirling ripple of the fading dusk,
Life we hold so dear like the precious musk.