in the early morning, cool and still,
and listen to the wind rustling through the trees,
watch the clouds go where they please.
The trees are every shade of green,
the fields add colour in between.
The houses; dressed in local stone,
are islands of their very own.
The cars and lorrys tell me there,
are people out and everywhere.
But from my hill; not a soul will I
in all that green, those people spy.
I see the cows in their field
keeping up their daily yeald,
eating grass; no other goals,
than making milk for breakfast bowls.
I see a distant shower of rain,
refreshing all to grow again.
And feel the rain upon my face,
once more I'm part of the human race.
So I'm going to sit on top of this hill
refresh my soul: recharge; until
the world no longer masters me,
then I'll be king of all all I see!
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