He came all the way from Grass Valley. All he does is listen to the Eagles,

There are many more growers in the valley who grow grass seed but do not burn.

Pause.
Listen for the whispers of your Soul.
Soul quietly flows through every part of you.

King of the peak and glacier, King of the cold, white scalps, He lifts his head at that close tread, The eagle of the Alps.

He clasps the crag with hooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls: He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.