I live in the far-flung narrow nook That time, has long ago forgotten Where the hills nurture the brooks And the pathways gaily beaten Where the East smiling each morn From behind the old aged mountain Wherein the small town lies, with the merry swallow, That darts, and speeds its flight through valleys, narrow The old pine tree and cedar and the bending willow Breathe their spirit into bodies, dead and hollow From the beaten pathways, winding hill-ward Where the birds live and sing with clear cord And the lark hovers steadfast in the blue Hanging to her fantasy, and melodies flow From all these, i hear heaven's call From the elements that voice freedom Away from the mundane life And from humans' rage and brawl The spirit finds refuge, in where He first came from; from where His dust had taken the first form ..............TBC.