O’er the hills, in the far eastern valleys vast expanse, there lays the green pastures, on which the shepherds flock does so comfortably feast. Where the knee-high blades bend beneath your hands as you reach down.

Barefoot, you run across the wide, open plains,
the beads morning dew catch on your feet.
As footprints you do leave, trail across the emerald plain.

Small seemingly insignificant dots of flowers,
Red, blue, yellow, a great host of colour, quite the pretty painting it would be. The flowers beds, home to the elegant dances of the flowing butterflies, and the youthful crickets song.

The sapphire sky, with snow white clouds, lingering here and there,
float and drift in timing with the winds whisper, gentle though it were.

As one wanders throughout the Wonderful grasslands, you see the fleet of blades shiver and dance. Final beads of dew do catch the radiant spot of sun, and catches in your eye, a photograph a painting, of a wonderful Elysian Field.

A place where the rivers gentle flow
transforms into the monsters mighty roar
bombards the waterbed below.
Giving rise to the gentle mist,
which masks the brutal churning of the
rivers clear and gushing water.
The waters edge around the nigh but brutal fall,
ripples and trembles,
splashing drops upon the rocks.
Yet, with what malice it may seem,
the water falling,
falls not without elegance and grace.
One glorious summers day,
I did sit upon a nearby stone,
and saw the morning sunlight pierce it.
That morning light, crossed with waters mist,
revealed to me the rainbow of seven.
The seven colours seen,
in the nearby wildflowers,
amidst the nearby trees.
I spend so many idle hours,
sitting by that water pool,
admiring the rainbows,
and the deep churning roar.