In the open part of the states
North wind swooped on The Great Plains
And down come from the sky
A pretty meadowlark sat by her side
And he called her his Wild Prairie Rose
His Wild Prairie Rose.
Clipped her with his beak,
And he held her to his yellow breast,
Then up in to the clouds,
Where she and her meadowlark bound.
And he called her his Wild Prairie Rose,
His Wild Prairie Rose.
He called her his Wild Prairie Rose,
His Wild Prairie Rose.
So higher and higher they flew,
And they did so for days and days,
But without her roots,
All her petals were wilted away.
So down to the ground they did come,
And he laid her in the gritty mud.
Her life had seen its last moments,
And he flew off for another bud.

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