Have you ever seen a sunrise that was made of purest gold?
The kind the forty-niners used to pan?
Have you ever seen a cloud like a cotton blankets fold,
Kind of sprayed up at the edges like a fan?
Have you ever watched the gulls come a wingin’ from the sea,
Before the sun had risen from it’s lair?
Have you ever noticed how they pass up every single tree,
And all they seem to want is open air?
Have you stood upon the rocks near a wild, pounding surf,
Which seemed to grip and hold you in it’s spell?
Would you rather walk on dampened sands than stand upon the turf?
Have you wondered how God could make a hell?