No flowers deck his resting place
No marble marks the spot,
But nature loves her children -
Her child is not forgot.
Oft times she rocks his cradle
Which hangs at river's brink
Her waters hum his lullaby
Where great herds come to drink.
His God, the sun, rides guard for him
And throws his golden light
The moon with all her children
Watches o'er him through the night.