There is nothing like
The smell of sage in the morn
Wafting on the lazy breeze

There is a place
Hidden, low in the valley
Where the sego lily grows

And there the angel
Made of everlasting stone
Watches those that came before

But now it’s time for
The sound of children whooping
As they merrily run through

Ever the woods stand
Tall, watching proudly over
The fields of flowers and grass

The mountain stone sees
What happens in its shadows
Ready to protect, its charge

And in that valley
Green sage and red brush combine
To show of heaven on earth