Hushed Willows the rocks in the hills are covered in gold

All welcome! But tagging @Reverie because we talked about another.

Dusty Rose was settling in among the willows the way he settled in anywhere: with relish and aplomb, and no small amount of noise-making. Most of it was singing in his odd coyote way: shrill and sonorous in turns, with much yipping and baying to punctuate more salient points.

He was burying a bone. And old one! But one he rather liked; one he had taken for himself from a past meal the willow wolves had shared before he came to be one. It sat beside him in the snow while his shovel-like paws carved through the frozen earth exactly the way a piece of paper wouldn't. While he worked, he sang,

"Coffee grows in white-oak trees,
the river flows with brandy,
the rocks in the hills are covered in gold
and the girls are sweeter than — shit — candy.

He'd dashed his paw against a rock, and he extracted it to lick fussily at his smarting toes. His song was just a little mutinous when he went on:

"Shady Grove, my lil' miss,
Shady Grove my darlin',
Shady Grove, my lil' miss,
I'm goin' back to Harlan,

Here, the coywolf added a few cackling ow-ow-ow's for flair.