This solitary hill of childhood has always been dear to me
And this hedge, of past days which prevents me most of the endless horizon to see
Those days of past when every bird would sing and a lamb in the field would bleat
A memory so pure and sacred I always in my mind keep
And scattered, aimless clouds cross the sky vault
Over meadows of ripe wheat in summer sun turned gold
As a boy I rush knee-deep through lush and vivid grass
As the wanton dusk wind upon my face makes its pass
When then I sit on a porch and gaze, I imagine, in my thoughts
Endless spaces beyond the hedge that my imagination caught
An all encompassing silence and a deeply profound quiet,
To the point that my heart is almost overwhelmed and spell tight
And when I hear the wind of dusk rustling through the trees
I compare the voice to the infinite inner silence in me.
And universe, and eternity occur to me, and all the ages
And the present time, and its sound are invoked by the front hedges
Calm summer evening descends the sparrow chirrups on the roof
The monotonous clock is ticking, and the sound
which to the wooing winds is aloof
The moon starts its nightly orbit, it is large and proportionally round
The silhouette of the thorny cactus against the sinking sun
As the rich of field flowers evening sets calmly as a nun
The evening breeze carry the cow manure into the neighboring houses and thru vast heaves
As the nightly earth from the heat of the day rests and breathes
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