Bliss

On a sunny valley,
green trees on the mountain belly
and two thousand and one flowers of different colours...
The smell of hay and honeysuckle
make my mind buckle.

I see a hut on the mountain top,
maybe that's where Lucy Grey stops
Outside a stone seat surrounded by rustling firs
Goats grazing contendly as of time has stopped-
and a steam gushes down with ice melting atop

The ice gleams in the sun and the lake nearby sparkles
With deep blue calm waters
So clear that I can see the multicoloured granite bed
With shades of black
as if it were made of lead

I see a cowboy lying still, enjoying the perfect weather
He might have been a tree rather
Not a cloud in the sky
and snatches of wind
The only sound I hear is of birds gay with spring.

And the rythm of woodman's axe or the musical waters
I would'nt bother if my life were a few days less
if it offers me days like this
Days that I call
Perfect Bliss