Standing quiet, just looking at You*

Oft journeying through, You,
Thy hills, trees, rocks, streams,
Foliage,  dense, mist and dew,
I stop, taking a deep breathe,
Only to feel within, a River, Lethe,

Away, away from banal things,
Who had won, who had lost,
Who had triumphed, at what cost,
Away I make a travel, to You,
The treasure trove, that You bring, like a cue,

Seeing that country road, going , just moving by,
Like a ribbon, with which the hills, you tie,
meandering like a figure going up, catching the air,
Is a wonderous feel, much like, Love, You and your music, fair,
As the tune emanates from thy lyre,
Whence I stop, only to see You, morn like, pure, unpolluted, bare,
And then, always  i make out why,
i sing for you, our Love, like an eight and a π. (*Note: the photo attached is taken by me, while touring to hills.)

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