The clear crisp call of chimes so high,
Bluebirds racing across the sky,
The wind that whispers in your ear,
So cold and fresh, “I am here!”

Bright hills of green, with frosted dew,
Fresh arctic air that hails you,
And bare feet skim the grass, the waves,
You fall, you roll, you laugh, breath haze.  

Joy dances, playful, on your lips,
Joy frolics, flies and leaps and rips
Through leaves with ease, so free, so blithe,
A child flying, young and lithe,
In nature’s painted paradise.