It was a funeral on the prairie, all his children gathered round
Put him in a horse drawn wagon, drove him into town
In the dark of February snow covered up the ground
In a pioneer church made out of sod we sang A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

He was born in 1898 when the plains burned red and green
To God fearing pilgrim parents, the twelfth kid of thirteen
They broke up that ground yard by yard with a mule and an oxen team
Now we’re burying him out on the lone prairie
Where the coyotes howl and the wind blows free

Back at the house we pushed that big oak table against the wall
Made a fire in the cast iron cook stove, made room for one and all
The children and grandchildren piling snow boots in the hall
The women worked like an oiled machine
The coffee boiled and the kettle screamed

Then the old folks took to telling tales of back when they were young
And it weren't too long before that four string banjo began to strum
Mom played the fiddle and my Uncle Lars played his accordion
The old farmers cried in their flannel sleeves
When we sang that song from the old country

That was long ago and as the years go by I still forget he’s gone
But I look out on the open plains and I know his soul lives on
He’s the red sky mirrored on the lake, he’s the first cold light of dawn
He’s a coyote’s wail, he’s a winter storm
He’s the August wind blowing through the corn