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.