There Is a Place To Call Our Own Part 2

Round us spread the loveliness, No words could form more the Relentless character of the land. Each passing moment I Inhaled The sweetness of the air, Too sweet it was! Flowing throughout My body as though it was inherent To my being. Giving me more life Than any dream could dare give. A threshold of our own, A passageway to purity, An entrance to eternal enjoyment! What was it, some ask? Such unfathomable locations One cannot simply stir up, or create At their own capricious whims, alas, Such dwellings exist. A mere home For the passioned, a simple Place to dream of when skies Are gloomy, covered in some darkness, Yet one that brings forth necessary rain for life To grow and live on. Why carry such Necessities unworthy of our lives? Impossible Stretches of land, beyond even the keenest sight, Or yet the most accurate map. Beyond the scope of any teacher, There too lies wisdom. Delight abounding in every shake Of every tree on every hill whose smooth descent Glistened of the moon and brought to our sight A perfect mirror of the sky! Deep romantic chasms filled With darker light, and still with rivulets Lining the underneath, declining into the distance, Towards some cluster of waterfalls, Splashing in rapture, the waters a shade Of azure, together in harmony, The sound of Nature! Bending near were some olden oaks. And here was a complete release of all things Constraining, no constructs to freedom existed. This was not simply ours, together we shared its splendor With an uncountable array of creatures, all unseen before. Each a mimicry of the land they called home; Each with a fate undetermined. Orchards in the distance told yet Of more flowery places to come. Possibly an all-white daisy landscape, Or a sea of honey flowers, Waving through time, like the ceaseless oceans, Heaving up and down, one could not help But get lost in its quivering dance! Quite near were sounds of children, Or maybe the mind was now In its own domain, playing games of Past with each other, frolicking, And prancing, and fluttering, so many Words to paint this! Yet none capture The essence of such indescribable scenes, One cannot help but to be struck in the mind, Forever engrained with a memorial. And here was a Utopia! Nor yet stained By any vices. And rupturing near us were Still roots of some future plant, maybe