Look! The cold, white ground is gone,
The grey still comes and goes
But sun comes near as often now.
We remember the road to the green fields,
We remember the smell of the light dew
As the ball goes sailing over the grass,
The flight of the birds as we come near
The sound of the bees, the sight of the stream,
And running down the trail through the big, tall trees.
Wait for us green fields
We are coming.