
Huffing I walk up;
no chariots to heaven
or volcanic hills.

Huffing I walk up;
no chariots to heaven
or volcanic hills.

The distant island
promise of greener grasses
voyaging in vain

Sways a blade of grass
worshipping the mountain peak;
the sun huffs, jealous.

From behind fence posts
we engage with our nature
too scared to approach.