Fare thee well, meadows of our youth. Change
rides fast upon us. Iron rails and strange inventions
divide our ancient lands, metal beasts breathe grey
fire roaring through the prairie fields of old.
Time to away, seek far flung lands where the forests
grow tall and strong free of the Axe-Man who fells
Great Ones twenty-a-day.
Time to away, run hither and anon from the bear-furred
Hunter who lays down cruel snares that snap our bones
in metal jaws to strip our kin of their silvered pelts.
Fare thee well, this land of plentiful bounties. These foreigners
to our frontiers take but know not how to give - kill,
but known not when best to let live.
Time to away, to far flung lands where our pups may play
in meadow and dell and there stay growing strong in the Spring
and learn the wild way.
Fare thee well, all we once knew. Pushed to the edge
of life we few, we strong will cut our path through No-Man's land.