I've walked up these hills 1,000 times,
And I've walked down them just the same.
I'll walk up these hills 1,000 more,
Because each morning ain't ever the same —
The strikey sun rises, casting silver shadows.
Light and darkness then frame the scene.
God says each morning will be new,
Not wearing on, I sure won't ever see the same this plain.
There's beauty in the floaty clouds,
There's beauty in the streaking rain.
There's beauty in the promised-morning sun
Rising again and again —
I didn't want to walk up the hill this morn…
But viewing this valley and the vista,
I'm sure as hell glad I did.
To gaze upon the beauty, with no need for a frame ~ "pièce de résistance!"