I am your lover
and you are so much more than my muse
and though i'm an artist
you're all I chose;
to write
to draw
and think about
to finger
to dream
and to ponder of
And though I am but young
I am merry
And though these lyrics have already been sung
I will wait for by the prairie
Our half way point,
From the mountains to the lakes
From the Rockies
where you remain
to Minnesota
Where I shall not die from this pain