The River of Grass, it flows unseen, From Okeechobee, vast and green. A sawgrass kingdom, ancient, deep, and wide, Where secrets sleep and shadows ride. The sun beats down, the mosquitos bite, A thousand years of day and night. We learned to walk where the gators crawl, The swamp gives its lesson, and its lesson gives the swamp to all. My granddad swore, the 'Glades had ways, To keep you honest through your days. He'd pole his skiff through channels sly and slow, Where cypress giants used to grow. He knew the egret's nest, the otter's den, And never needed signs from other men. Now motors hum where the horse once trod, The land bears the mark of the wheel, and the wheel marks the land for God. The Seminole knew this land, its every twist, Before the drainers' dream took hold like mist. They built their camps on hammocks, dry and high, Beneath the vast, unending sky. They fought and fished, and lived by nature's grace, No stranger here could ever know this place. The water's clear, then turns to muddy brown, The wildness guards its heart, and its heart guards the wildness down. They talk of cities, stretching to the sea, Of taming wild Florida, for you and me. But there's a spirit here, old and profound, In every slough and every mound. It breathes through cypress, whispers through the cane, A challenge to the coming sun and rain. The 'Glades endure, as they always have, The heart of the wild beats on, and on beats the wild's heart.
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