I know a land that is filled with music,
A land that's old and wise,
And yet is filled with such youthful movement,
Such as the dancing of the skies.

Spring's soft serenade of flight,
A bird ballet of returning wings,
A cheerful song that does delight,
To welcome back all living things.

Summer is a pagan rite,
As electric forks leap across the sky,
Lighting up the dark of night,
Reminding us how to live, and why.

Fall is a jitterbug of leaves,
Madly swirling, twirling, prancing,
Colours spiraling down from trees,
Only to fly off and joining the dancing.

Winter is a final waltz,
Of slow and graceful snow,
A chance to collect our thoughts,
One last dance before we go.