Along the Old Saint Johns

I stood atop a hill,

Considering the pools,

Of life that teemed below,

Along the Old Saint Johns.

Oh Florida, your gifts,

Lay on your sandy shores,

And spread across your land,

In soggy fields and bogs.

And out across the beds,

Of salty river marsh,

I saw a treasured prize,

Of matchless worth to all.

Oh Florida, your gifts,

Lay on your sandy shores,

And spread across your land,

In soggy fields and bogs.

The St. Johns, long and wide,

Sustains the manatee,

And floods our coastal plains,

With grassy fields and palms.

The mighty heron blue,

Depends on this, her home,

To hunt for precious food,

And feed her growing young.

Oh Florida, your gifts,

Lay on your sandy shores,

And spread across your land,

In soggy fields and bogs.

Where alligators prowl,

And river otters play,

That's where you'll find the gems,

That glitter more than gold.

That's where it is, oh Florida.

Take care, and pass it on.