I would like once more to see white smoke come
unfurling from the mountains beyond you.
Whilst the cold makes noses blue and hands numb.
And all the while it was of death you knew,
would come and get us in the twilight hour-
we still have hills to find, and sights to see.
We, who hell’s grim tyrant doth devour,
scatter ourselves amongst life’s debris.
I would utter the three powerful words
if I thought you could hear it how I want
you to hear it (like the high-flying birds).
I’ll keep you from the evils of thunder,
Roaming free, we shall go off and wonder.