I sit upon a mountain high, above familiar scenes,
Of dusty browns and
ocher hues and living shades of green.
All the well-loved landmarks there surround me in the
vibrant air,
So old and wise, yet strangely new...
inscrutable and fair.
I sit upon a mountain high and think of days gone by;
Of meadow flowers and enchanted hours with lizards and butterflies;
Of peaceful afternoons and
starlit nights with bedtimes come too soon;
Of trees and rocks, of falls and knocks...the mystery of the
moon.
I sit upon a mountain high; my favorite place I occupy,
To think of all that's gone before, a part of which I am no more;
Of all the
untold thousand things and more that I have never seen:
For in every field in every spring, there is a new and different green.
I sit upon a mountain high and think of long ago,
Of those unborn who'll see a world that I will never know.
Aye,
poignant 'tis to feel so, yet with joy my heart still sings,
As ever does it know the way, where the Bird of Time has no wings.
For appearance holds us all in thrall where Reality bursts
asunder.
And what seems all separate, is in Truth together...
I sit upon a mountain high, knowing all that was...is yet to be!
And
future deeds and unknown lands and seas be but silver moonlight memories...
"Strange thoughts." you say, "A fool's repast!"
But Oh! Perfection of Wisdom shall tell at last,
The
Open Secret...hidden for all to seize.
I sit upon a mountain high, a
silhouette against the sky,
United in mute
harmony, I am all things...all things are me.
Just as ever have I been and ever more will be.
Oh Infinity! Infinity: the
dewdrop is the shining sea.
