What, say you, I see
In the rumbling hills alive,
With brilliant shining,
Are the lives of a common people
Indubitably and forever woven in the soft lying
Sod
Of the land.
I see them, say you,
Rise up from the land,
Molded by the hills,
Into a shape purely identifiable
With them, with the
Subtle, subtle strength
Of the ancient stones.
I see trees, say you,
Tall, towering trees,
The breath of the primeval wind
Still stirring the branches
And caressing my skin,
With hands of time and still
Of new and tender green
Growth.
I see leaves, say you,
Reaching up to the crystalglass sky,
Quivering in the wake of the power
Gifted to them.
I see men, say you,
Who all of this timeless energy
is
Bursting forth
And
No one
Wants
To
Know…
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