On the plains where the grasses grow,
an Aeolian whisper came to blow to and fro,
over green blades of a single length,
In currents like ocean waves all the same
and the land in flatness,
all in semblance to the empyreans base.
It passed through the bows of trees
in an expansive forest,
patterned in geometric synchronicity alike;
one neighbour to the next dispersed in rows
endlessly creative in their identical arrangements.
Below the saplings sprouted at careful increments;
each level owing its fractal design to a logical paradigm,
and beneath that still,
the mosses colored the earthen floor a homologous hue
that was all alike in semblance.
The Aeolian maestro flew on in wanderlust,
and on its way cheerfully greeting
and azure vault deightfully ranging,
whose vast array of fluffy white cumuli
rolled along in surprise imitation of the inverted parallel
of rolling hills mirrored below,
each one a stereotype of an infinte sequence of repitition
stretching all the way to the oblivion of sight;
and those little hills, like terrestrial waves,
undulated in universal semblance to all the rest.
To the mountains forthwith!
did the west wind blow,
and in its ably hands deftly sculpted,
of castellated stone thrusted upwards,
thrones of majesty in each and for each
a crown of snow and robe of green.
From the prestigious view of Aeolus
could be gleaned,
that this army of kings betook itself in orderly regiments,
row by row, to the ultimate known,
all in semblance.
Down the mountains the wind swept along,
over the rooftops of a quiet village,
each house peaked like a tiny mountain top,
and set in yards of perfect order.
Along the avenue the trees were planted,
in an exacting queue, standing like disciplined
sentinels to each homestead,
guarding over the fence lines,
straight as arrows,
lit by the lamplights tabulating street design,
as plumb to even as any measuring stick,
each one alike,
each one the same.
On the streets where the people walked,
talked; sounded similar and even looked familiar,
it could be perceived that each one was not as a sole
tree within a forest, a single blade of grass in a field;
one mountain in a range, or a solitary wave on the sea;
they were all one thing,
and it was all alike,
and all in semblance to the rest.
And from their the wind flowed
to meet its friend in the waters of an ocean,
and together the two danced a tango of currents,
producing tiny little mountains on its surface,
that time deems fit to deliver equal in rendition,
all alike in semblance,
bearing up the pattern of their existence
on a vast blue canvas stretching to oblivion.