The Hillside
Sitting atop a lonely hill,
Allowing thoughts and rhymes to spill,
Whilst taking in this cleaner air,
And trying to make judgments fair,
I see the distant town below,
Where buildings, business, people grow,
It shimmers in the mid-day sun,
And feels so very smoothly run.
But if you watch from down a street,
Observing herds of trampling feet,
You'll find that chaos reigns supreme,
As they fight for one rare dream.
I'll sit, instead, upon these banks,
And, watching them, I give my thanks,
That I don't run that bland rat race,
But learnt to live at my own pace.
Allowing thoughts and rhymes to spill,
Whilst taking in this cleaner air,
And trying to make judgments fair,
I see the distant town below,
Where buildings, business, people grow,
It shimmers in the mid-day sun,
And feels so very smoothly run.
But if you watch from down a street,
Observing herds of trampling feet,
You'll find that chaos reigns supreme,
As they fight for one rare dream.
I'll sit, instead, upon these banks,
And, watching them, I give my thanks,
That I don't run that bland rat race,
But learnt to live at my own pace.