So many hills I have seen
That grow so soft and thick and green.
Though jagged rocks sit down below
The grass and shrubs and weeds that grow
Through cracks and gaps, in mud patches --
Sprawling wide from tight-knit batches
That stone cannot constrain or kill.
Stony hills
Blanketed in green;
Softened -
Yet still hard.
Silent -
Yet riotous
As wind buffets
My face when I
Speed past.
Last night chirps resounded in the cold,
Through witching hour no sleep occurred.
I rose and slowly walked, alone.
Moonlight window glow, but no one stirred.
I've grayed in service and search of fame.
On hills, back home, the pines have grown old.
That's the story I'd let my lute tell,
If a string weren't broken &
there was someone to be told.
cloud ceiling,
almost touched atop a hill,
parts in the distance.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 