Blue Range Wilderness

No ears to hear the call of blue bird from upper branch of pine, No ears to hear the squirrel's chatter as he climbs, No ears to hear the wind in this thicket singing soft, No ears to hear whirr of downy wings of owl aloft, No eyes to see the lupines myriad splendor lush, No eyes to see the moss spread thick as velvet plush, Wild honeysuckle interlaces there among tall trees, And rich smell of lowlands wafts in by gentle breeze.

The wild rose shows off loveliness all unseen, Drinking shafts of sun through spruce-shaded green, The season's ritual of birth and life and death Comes and goes as regularly as life-giving breath.

God does not slight the woodland's tender care Because no human ears and eyes are there, His display of lavish beauty is still as grand, Existing profusely without the helping hand of fragile man.