North Of Sixty
Scott Howard Myers
The Gypsy King
North of sixty, you see the cold.
Big skies, and short days told.
Forests shrink, past big river.
Listen closely, hear them shiver.
Bison wild, roam free here.
Timber wolf run, moon light clear.
North of sixty, black raven flies.
Wise old bird, wing spread skies.
Mountains roll, to horizons edge.
Older than, our souls can pledge.
Great silence here, all is still.
Refresh ones spirits, reviving will.
North of sixty, last place on earth.
Pristine halls, of Mother Earth.
Before we sit, and watch her cry.
Mankind must, unite and try.
To find a way, to keep her clean.
Before we see, Mother Earth turn mean.
North of sixty, I know we can.
Teach ourselves, revive our plan.
Stewards’ oath, to keep this land.
Safe for life long, eternal plan.
Great Spirit too, we shall be true. Big skies, forever keep them blue.