october 1968

hills heavy green under a watery sky
a distant cock is crowing before noon
the air tells us that rain is coming soon
all seems so rich and fertile to the eye
colours explode while vultures soaring high
wait for the foolish animal to swoon
to find a meaning you must read the rune
the distant sea just makes you want to fly
we reach each place without a formal choice
the world itself seems no more than a toy
and mysteries reside within each tree
yet there are never reasons to rejoice
most tears will not be products of true joy
and nothing matters even when you're free