Alone we are born
And die alone
Yet see the red-gold cirrus
over snow-mountain shine.
Upon the upland road Ride easy, stranger Surrender to the sky Your heart of anger.
(James K. Baxter: High Country Weather)
Alone we are born
And die alone
Yet see the red-gold cirrus
over snow-mountain shine.
Upon the upland road Ride easy, stranger Surrender to the sky Your heart of anger.
(James K. Baxter: High Country Weather)
