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Speak to me in the voice of the North Wind
With the Williwaw's ancient soul,
Of Kah Lituya's tales and explorer's sails
And sourdoughs and mountains of gold.

Let me breathe the blue air of glaciers
'Neath the sky of the newly born Spring,
And remember the Tlingit traders
And honor the long winter dreams.

Let me hear the call of the eagle
In the forests where the salmon run,
And stand on the shores of majestic gray fjords
In the arms of the pale arctic sun.

Let me walk in Denali's shadow
Where the sitkas snare passing clouds,
And gaze across cotton grass meadows
As ghosts from the far mountains howl.

Speak to me in the voice of the North Wind
When Boreas unveils his soul,
And the Aurora's charmed lights
Dance through the night –
With the spirits of ice and cold.

– Terry Moore ©2015