What lies beyond the hill
the path bending seems to narrow
but we know that is illusion
it tells us of the journey to the top
no longer than it seems;
counting fence posts strung with wire
stumbling stones,flowers at the edges
which way are we walking;can we guess?
if early,it is to the south
late,we travel north,soon to be dark.
If the day before us we have time to see,
see what lies beyond the hill.
Turn around the easel tell me what you find.
As you travel north evening at your left
hear the blackbird and the early owl
then home,dreaming to the cold white moon
rise with the dawn to ride with Phoebus,
listening to the lark.