You will sleep at the rim of the sky.
You will hear on the hickory wind
Whisperings from the tales of time.
Child of the mountains, child of the plains,
You will carry the woods in your hands.
You will have green meadows in the forests,
You will grow with the moon and the new year.
Child of the sunset, child of the dawn,
Tomorrow's wildflowers are yours;
And you will learn that love unfolds the heart
To give it songs to sing.