When farmers write poems
And children paint sunrises
Something happens in the valleys
Where the ice never came
The young and old of the people
Who lived here long ago
Feel they have awakened
And start to stir in the creek-beds
And the empty snowy fields
Take on the color of homecoming
The steep cliffs are burnished
Again with remembered wonder
From what the stones have suffered
Becoming a spirit in the trees
Becoming a glow in the eyes
Of the families who have gathered
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