When the snowfields thaw and the stream beds crawl
To the waterfall and river,
I'll turn my face to the bright green space
Of the mother, my life-giver.
No man has made a ring of jade
Like green corn in the husk.
No man could own a turquoise stone
As deep blue as the dusk.
So come away from your working day
And laugh and let your head go－
And bring along an old-time song
For dancing in the meadow . . .
Leave your bedside for a moonlight ride
Where the midnight air is warmer.
We'll sing for the quail and the cotton tail
Who still escapes the farmer.
Deep plum thickets and bramble bushes
Where the quiet creatures hide
Are part of me－a mystery which I accept with pride.
If I must stay and lay all day
Like a March hare in hedgerow,
When the hunter's gone, it's all night long,
For dancing in the meadow . . .
When the summer's over and come October
When the evening air is crisper, In the mist and smoke by the twisted oak
I'll listen to the branches whisper.
Barn dancers reel, the furrowed field
Must yield and quickly turn.
Harvest gone the hoot owl song
Is one we now must learn.
"Who, who, who are you?" and, "If it's you who said so?"
"Who could it be?" "It's only me"
I'm dancing in the meadow . . .
When the seasons pa** and the hour gla**
Has all too quickly shattered,
You'll lay me low beneath the snow
And wonder if I mattered.
Late in the night your hair gone white
Will surely stand on end;
You'll hear me sing, my banjo ring,
The voice of your old friend.
If you get brave, run to my grave
And holler, "Are you dead?" "No!"
No tombstone can cover my bones
I'm dancing in the meadow . . .