Sitting on a fallen tree as if it were a chair,
Looking in the distance to see what's over there,
Clouds on the horizon, sun in a deep blue sky,
Dreaming of another day and getting lost in time.
Cattle in a distant field look inch high from here,
A hot air balloon drifts along with smiling faces clear,
Children play till evening but never feel the chill,
All the signs of life pass by when I sit atop the hill.
The symbols of modern times mean nothing to me here,
This land has been the same for at least a thousand years,
Days go by so quickly and time waits for no one,
There is so much to see and do before my life is done.
All too soon the moment has arrived to leave but not in haste,
Who was it who once said that time enjoyed was not a waste,
The Sunday pm feeling will go with me, but still,
I'll come back here when the mood is rght and sit atop the hill.