Burned Words, Burnt Paper

Walked down a twisted and dusty path,
From a humble and leaning camp,
Beside it a cold stream gave birds baths,
Next to grass cool and damp.

At the bottom the sluice cut sharply away,
The valley opened up to the clouds,
Clover and bluebells grew from dark clay,
In the gravel in foamy shrouds.

Bees hovered over delicate plants,
Hummingbirds whisked their wings,
Goose bumps raised by her devilish glance,
And the feeling that only spring brings.

Out of the south the warmth blew in
Small animals capered out
Only two cats and one dog chased sin
And our hearts let go a quick shout.

Chorus:
Golden thoughts, golden sighs, blue, green and brown eyes
Wispy clouds in the sky
Shadows gray, shadowed glow, opened windows
Mating doves playing shy.

Across the bright valley, high up on a ridge,
A cabin opened its door.
A rooster perched on a lower cottage,
Squawked and mustered its store--d up call

(now if I could just remember how to read and write music *__*)
[brief discussion of digital music]