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.