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
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 3:29 PM UTC
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