Over the eastern hills,
a glow that adorns the morning sun.
A beauty spilling from the trees.
Against convention and reason,
the flesh was yearning on.
And in that moment a love was born.
A life no longer wondering,
about yes or no.
Take me to where the grass is green
Over the eastern hills,
a glow that adorns the morning sun.
A beauty spilling from the trees.
Against convention and reason,
the flesh was yearning on.
And in that moment a love was born.
A life no longer wondering,
about yes or no.
A Wandering Poet 