I take my seat among the grasses, sighing soft,
And slowly watch the day
Descend beyond the mountain summit, as I oft
Have done beneath sky gray.
The rains have beaten hard this summer, stirring up
The red, red river clay
And in the grass at rivers edge I take my cup
And watch the foxes play.
The meadow songbirds lift a plaintive air, I hear
Them calling to the sky
And lifts the eagle high upon the breeze, and near
The river runs, And I
Am caught in gaze from eyes so gold, and then
The foxes run away,
But I shall join the songbirds’ call at dusk, again,
And watch the foxes play.
