You are my mountains

The peace of the grass past the timberline

The splash of glacial fountains

To look at you and know you're mine

Is to look at a valley painted with columbine

It's to touch the last aspen on the trail

As they give way to ancient pine

And to see the sunlight through their boughs, so frail

Light the mossy stones and clover

And I hear your voice in a thousand shaking leaves

And looking at their shivering sighs, then over

To the heights of snowy peaks and the eagle who believes

His home in the sky is the most glorious and great

That his eternal blue is the most fine

But the eagle doesn't know true good fate

Because the sky is his, but you are mine.