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.
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