Grace

In the soft low light up high
Out where love has always thrived
And will forever yearn for the colorful hover
A brush stroke of words out of the West
We still want free life
We still want fresh air

Out on the wild side
Where the hills don’t know my name
Nature’s people on the fly
Hear them sing their sweet refrain

And as the millennia meander by
Like birthdays to the earth
What thrill a saffron blade of grass, blue sage, scrub oak
Still brings us on our jaunt across the land
Our daily poem
Our prayer

Out on the wild side
Where the hills don’t know my name
Nature’s people on the fly
Hear them sing their sweet refrain