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Past the first bend in the river |
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Is another bend I can't see |
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And the bend that keeps calling |
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Is the bend that keeps hiding from me. |
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Past the first hill on the desert |
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Is another hill I can't see |
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And the hill that keeps hiding |
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Is the hill that keeps calling to me. |
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In the cottonwood by the river |
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A mourning dove calls his mate |
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He has true love to give her |
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But love for me must wait. |
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Till I've traveled every river |
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And each desert hill I have climbed |
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If I find love to my liking |
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I'll leave the river's bend far behind... |
