In the Valley

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There is nothing like

The smell of sage in the morn

Wafting on the lazy breeze

 

There is a corner

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

‘Neath the settling purple sky

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