These grass blades sway
And 'suade me to stop.
So I drop on the spot
To become this mountain top.
And I rest my head in the shade.
Then the day begins to fade,
Still I glimpse
At the base of the hill
A thrillful boy and all his will.
I throw my hopes he makes his way.
She too, the dove above, does pray.
Telling all who live below
To fill the heart with youthful glow
Before eyes dim to indigo,
And give no more but fine aged praise.