Somewhere,
high up in the mountains,
where the wind blows free
and frolicks teasingly
with the huge pine tree
where the sky is always clear
but for when the clouds roll
and they hang down so near
that the gray takes over the blue
and yet one wonders,
who painted this hue?
There,
high up in the mountains,
where clear streams run
and tinkle and sprinkle
their ware with so much fun,
where the many butterflies fly
dancing with great abundance,
naughty and yet shy!
Here,
high up in the mountains,
where the world is so pure
a small hut is all I want,
yes, I am so sure.
In the midst of this green,
living would be a bliss
no empty smiles to give,
no hatred, malice or airborne kiss.
Solitude for company,
through moods happy and sad
peace will reign.
where all seasons would be beautiful -
bright summer and misty rain.
