Heaven’s Mist

In the Appalachian Mountains, heaven’s mist imposes.
Rain falls in the woodlands, brings wild flowers and roses.
Shimmering, Glimmering, the warm breath of spring,
In the Appalachian mountains, heaven’s mist does bring.

Fields of fern, hemlock and oak, swaying in the breeze.
The smell of sweet fine chives, the summer air does tease.
Voicing, rejoicing, I hear the hillsides sing.
In the Appalachian Mountains, heaven’s mist does ring.

Colors blaze in the harvest haze, cornfields turn to gold.
Rusted leaves on ancient trees, swaying majestic and bold.
Changing, rearranging to winter from fall;
In the Appalachian mountains, heaven’s mist does call.

[Instrumental] first 2 lines

…Changing, rearranging as the seasons fall;
    In the Appalachian mountains, heaven’s mist does call,
    She calls, she calls.