Waking, I find you filling my day's song.
And full of rising winds, through my wild hair,
you toss me toward the light.
And perhaps one day, in wheat fields
you'll chase me,
or on sandaled desert planes
near Santa Fe,
or climbing the golden pine-scented hills
of northern Colorado.
We'll see, won't we? We will.
You, the best of my wild hairs.