The View Out of My Window

Question persists in the back of my head, What do I see when through windows I look? I see the nature, its hilltops, a brook, Glideth like snake to horizon ahead. I see the people, old fisherman’s face, Girl is so joyful to hop there and run, Hair is of hers into ponytail done, While she delights in her butterfly chase. I see the weather that's whistling its way, Rays are such artists, so skilful when paint, Hills with the colours and shadows which faint, Playing the flute to this vivid display. I see the lines of a silhouette blear, That over view and its wonderful theme, Hover in front or perhaps in the rear, In such a way that the girl, hills and stream, Which are so joyful and so full of cheer, Only as subtile reflection mine seem.