Aaron Copland clouds
Violin-flavored skies
Trumpets and strings
Brilliant blue with wings
Plucked from the scores of paradise
Rose gold rays, long-tall days
This is where even devil prays
Brass beds, brass bands
Grass-fed. Prairieland.
Worry and fear are always my strays
Green as far as the sun can swing
No fence to stop a living thing
Rolling hills, sunlight spills
From the top of the world, I sing
Yellow fields sway
Harps of angels play
Blue blazes
Horse grazes
Cowboy gazes
And I dream that these ghosts will stay.
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