When the wind rips through alpine lakes
and sprints along the granite domes
and whisps by hidden waterfalls
only God can see
eerie tunes are sung
in the Serenade Mountains

By the western slopes
beyond the San Joaquin
I once courted a gal
so fair and tender
as the wind sang its songs
and skipped and danced
along the Serenade Mountains

Crimson lips, so rare
As a cactus rose
precious as a mountain lake
and refreshing as sweet red berries
gently touched mine
like the delicate mist
of a demure spring shower
and prayed their secret psalm
to the Serenade Mountains