These misted hills flow endlessly
along the roads and jagged shores
to taper into sky and sea
where brightly molten sunset pours.
Each journey blending with another
like these overlapping hills
children of an unseen mother
who the ancient music fills.
The sky is gashed with streaks of red
above the rough and contoured land
as daylight takes reluctant bed
forced out of sight by Time's stout hand.
This honeyed air, like amber stone,
has seen some forty million years
preserved in eye of mind alone
that comprehends, as nightfall nears.
Such visions dwell in wistful dreams
and songs that haunt the edge of sleep
an instant as a lifetime seems,
and thoughts are forests, gnarled and deep.
A keener eye or swifter feet
might find all hills do yet converge
quite near to where all journeys meet
and dawn and twilight gently merge.
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