Oh Iowa, as a great tempestuous sea forever tossed
That as rough stormy earthen waves eternally cast.
So strong a turmoil as any brave mariner was lost
On green prairie swells ships sail with nary a mast.
Your endless rolling plains slowly break and crash
Beneath purple crests that pinnacle the pitching sod.
What vessels pass silently upon your seas of grass.
Oh Iowa, a pulsing ocean that man has firmly trod.