Fiddles twang with rich melody,
transcending the mystic hollows,
flying with the brook-mists
up into the wistful clouds,
hovering the scenic balds.

There’s something truly special
about the blue ridge,
a power that creates
sheer-magic in my heart.

Like the seasons,
life is forever changing,
rising and constantly falling,
I float, I die
a leaf of summer
onto sacred ground there.