Far From the Dry Spell
J-ust let the beacon rise,
H-igh in the sky above;
O-pen your heart to heaven,
L-et it feel the greatest love.
I-n tenth December morn, the sun begins to shine;
E-ventide passes by, as the dawn makes you feel fine.
C-olors of the wide lane
A-re orange, blue and pink;
M-ist and haze are gone,
P-leasing your eyes that wink.
U-nderneath the white clouds,
S-aturday wind is so gentle;
O-ne breeze brings freshness far from the dry spell.
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