This is a poem. Of a house on the hill.
No I never lived there. No not even once.
But I've always wondered what'd it be like to be to live
on that house upon the hill.
To sit there on the front porch, and watch the grass grow tall,
just like the children with each coming season;
winter, spring, summer and fall.
Give me some time, that's all I ask.
And I'll get you that house upon the hill,
if that was my final task.
Because for you, I'd build a village, and name it in your honor.
Only if that's your will.
But as for me, I'll be content. To just have you, here with me,
in that house.
That little old house.
Up.
Upon that hill.