Our flurries, that fall from heaven,
Powder fill the mountains.
Thy parts did come, my work be done, on clutch, carb, and suspension.
Give us this day blue bird sky,
And help tree huggers forgive those that trespass against them.
Lead us not into avalanches,
but deliver rolling meadows.
For thine is the highmark, the tree run, the side hill.
From December to Mothers’ day.
Reprinted with permission from TEAM250, (Ryan) BC, Canada