Grant to me the meadows of the Alpine zone
Near hallowed and scenic mountains dressed white as bone,
With wildflowers swaying in the wind
Columbine, lupine, and paintbrush bloom and then rescind.
High among the craggy peaks are cold blue lakes
Nestled between the granite pockets of rock flakes,
Where the hermit thrush sings chorus to the cirque abound,
And bees buzz the heather while the bear roam around.
The elk they graze on sweet grass over sacred land
Majestic bulls bugle rivals with antlers so grand.
The herd runs along a rushing little rill
While the coyote in the brush watches now standing still.
Amid the lofty peaks I now fare
With lungs filled of clean, pure, and magic air.
Touched by the awesome beauty and the simplicity of it all,
Makes me humble of a higher handiwork and I feel quite small.
And when I am old with brittle bone
Grant me the strength once more of return to the Alpine zone.
Let me rest here forevermore yet not alone
But surrounded by life where wild and noble beasts roam . . .