Shall I admire the vista being eyed, descried?
Shall I gape and marvel at the scene spellbound?
Oh, hills of this sublime land kiss the sky to guide
My soul that roams, foraging for a silenced sound.
The trees appear to speak ’bout places we’ll see not.
The clouds here seem like spirits that have never fought.
Could you behold the setting ball of fire a while?
Could you discourse with each hill that’s adorned by snow?
The path we’re treading on will take us one more mile
So we may touch the clouds that move in that destined row.
Oh, when the sky does gain its charm and glow at night;
We’ll wander each lane that reflects the Moon’s light.
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Until then let us sight the sky lit by the Sun,
And please our eyes that have hitherto dwelt in dark.
Is all of this not wrought so we may have some fun?
In such a place we’d better be up with the lark.
This place but houses no man or woman or child.
Bide here a lot of creatures that are hoary, wild.
The creatures though have vanished into thin air now,
For they know we are here to hunt them, my dear mate.
Shall we hence get rid of this arrow and that bow?
Had we not wrongly thought they were our only fate?
For now, let’s think about the silence of this land.
And ponder well the calm implanted in its sand.
The sound of life is silenced here, without a doubt.
The silence though does deafen, do you not agree?
What do you ween will happen if we yell and shout
Here on the carpet girded by trees standing free?
Would that we vanished here, soaked up by snow-like clouds
That meander together only in big crowds!
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