Wet Grass

The Wet Grass of Morning
In the spring when I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning, I see many smiles upon the meadows There are drops of shining dew clinging to the blue harebells, And the little white starflowers sparkle with dew, shining Old Woman Spider has beaded many beautiful patterns, Spreading them where the Sun's ray fails He also is smiling as he catches the red of the blackbird's opening wing, As he hearkens to the mocking-bird inventing new songs I was an old man as I sat by the evening fire When I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning I am young again.

In the spring when I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning,
I see many smiles upon the meadows

There are drops of shining dew clinging to the blue harebells,
And the little white starflowers sparkle with dew, shining

Old Woman Spider has beaded many beautiful patterns,
Spreading them where the Sun's ray fails

He also is smiling as he catches the red of the blackbird's opening wing,
As he hearkens to the mocking-bird inventing new songs

I was an old man as I sat by the evening fire
When I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning I am young again.