REBECCA
In the dawn the Eagle cries...
and echoes through the day,
Then dusk returns to dry our eyes,
And whisk our thoughts away.
But memories they linger on,
Like moonbeams in the night,
Until again the rising Sun,
Returns to bring the light.
Upon the Spires of mountain peaks,
Where silver cascades squall,
An eagle like a spirit streaks,
Back to our fond recall...
And the mountain river to me speaks;
"You'll do to ride the fall"