The Hill if Life

On Summer's morning still and light I sat upon the hill of life.

And there to see eternity with all its wonders there to be.

Through miles and miles of twisting lanes, that too'd and fro'd then too'd again.

Etched out by hedgerows from on my view, that no master's painting could so true.

The tree banked river that meandered slow, flicked out by sunlight's eerie glow.

And I sat amazed by this shimmering stream, transfixed as in a wakening dream.

Over patchworked fields I cast my eyes, as wing borne crows loosed off their cries.

While a skein of geese passed by beneath my view of life from this high seat.

As cattle grazed in those meadows green, so far and small or so they seemed.

And the farmers tractor in work employed, to me seemed more some dinky toy.

Four clouds into my horizon strayed, so fluffy white though just been made.

Across the fields they cast their mark, of shadowed light and slightest dark.

Up here away from those busy ways, of daily living nerves that fray.

On Summer's morning still and light as I sat upon the hill of life.