This stony land can be so dry
I wonder anything lives at all.
Dust shrouds the cedar trees,
The brush stands brown and withered
And the grasses shatter.
But when the winter rain
Has filled the aquifer again,
Ten thousand springs flow forth,
The hollows murmur with the sound
Of rippling liquid,
Streams run crystal clear,
Ponds pool to their brims,
Flowers bloom in all the meadows
And every bird sings.