The Secret Valley. . .

The rushing raging waters run past the dappled green leaves,
Of the tall breezy trees overlooking a valley so fair that,
The butterflies and the birds live in perfect harmony, never fighting, just
Perfect peacefulness and tranquility.

The jagged haughty cliffs that act as the boundary of the valley leer down upon those,
Who are the gentliest of all, and who are mere peasants in the eyes of the brown, bare cliff,
Which is a-wash with no life, not a spirit seeks its hazardous sides, not even the mighty eagle,
Who is the King of them all, gazing around in a regal manner whilst its wings take it across,
The myriads of oceans and seas that lead away from this fair valley, surrounded by the monstrous mountains,
That are the scoundrels of nature.

The clear blue sky that always seems chirpy and cheerful, so full of alive,
And full of spirit, brings hope to all and none, for there is one who does not share,
The people's delight of the sky, and his name is never uttered, for it is the darkest of all names,
It wields a spell in your very stomach, and it takes you to a place far away, and that place is,
The very place nobody wants to be, and that is,
The valley.