The Man on the Hill

He sat beneath the burning sky, 

Amidst Suns amber rays, 

Dust motes danced within the light, 

They twirled in many ways. 

Dancers made of particles, 

Some too small to see, 

They danced beneath a setting sun, 

As night time came to be. 

He sat beneath a moon so bright, 

So clear against the sky, 

And all the stars came out to play, 

Such beauty made him cry. 

A myriad of colours then, 

Washed over, high above, 

Heart full of compassion so, 

A heart so full of love, 

And through the changing seasons, he,

Sat upon the hill, 

Through all the hues of seasons past, 

Their passions and their will. 

The warming rays of spring time, 

And Summers bluest sky, 

The reds and golds of Autumns fall, 

When Winters snow did lie. 

He sat upon the greenest grass, 

Surrounded he, by flowers,

The poppy field, the Daisy crop, 

He sat through life’s long hours, 

And I know he’s always there, 

I’ve seen him, for he’s still, 

This man wrought out of time, 

There he sits, upon the hill.

 

 

 

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