I cradle the travelers in their windy Birth, br My name is Mother....Mother Earth. br br I Give them a bed in nature to lie, br When they hear that sweet lullaby. br br I wash them in my rivers and streams. br Thier furtive flight is a product of dreams. br br When the dream ends and they always come clean. br br They thank me with colors and odors of fall, br And remind me to give Old Man Winter a call.