August 2, 1899 The Pinon Altrurian

Let us take the wasted water,

Now flowing in the Miguel.

Gradually up the summit

Slowly up the Hill;

Let it wind its way o'er canyon

By rock and cedar small.

Until a hundred feet

At Pinon it can fall;

Until Bucktail heaves in view

And its bottom feels the splatter

Of the river's dew.

Still onward with the water,

On through light and dark.

Down the rugged cliffs,

Out onto the Park.

Let us unite our efforts

With heart and hand and brain,

There is nothing to lose,

But everything to gain.

Let those who would be rulers

Cease their fiendish bore,

And those who chew the rag

Chew the dirty thing no more.