A desert moon is shining
on a road that's dim and quiet;
Where I fain would sit and ponder,
through the stillness of the night.
On a stately little hillock
is a pile of gleaming sand;
it lies in peaceful solitude
and does not hint of man.
Where I can sit and watch the birthing
of a new day, fresh and bright;
as with its infant fingers it
rolls back the shades of night.
I dream my dreams of yesteryear
and things that might have been;
and words that ne'er were spoken
and places I have seen.
Life is a desert day.
It breaks in bright crescendo.
It climbs in warmth, declines in peace,
and ends in velvet splendor.