• In this country there is a place
    where in your life you can watch bluffs turn green.
    Where earth-mountains are dwarfed
    by ones formed in cloud.

    In this place you can stand on raised ground
    and watch vaulted arches in the air
    shadowed gray black with wafting beaded curtains,
    shafted with windows of blue.
    Balcony doors releasing columns of white
    to splash the shadows with highlights.

    In this land the bank rocks are smooth worn
    by clean waters bounded by fields and woods.
    Where floating dancers may light upon you without fear.
    Here under the winding, vast, interlaced halls
    seated in a train of natural company
    you may still hear the voices of the people of the land.

    At the Creek of the Bears,
    tucked away at the Bend to the River
    in the Village of the People of the Large Canoes.