Somewhere, high up in the mountains, where the wind blows free and frolics teasingly with the huge pine tree where the sky is always clear but for when the clouds roll and they hang down so near that the gray takes over the blue and yet one wonders, who painted this hue?
There, high up in the mountains, where clear streams run and tinkle and sprinkle their ware with so much fun, where the many butterflies fly dancing with great abundance, naughty and yet shy!
Here, high up in the mountains, where the world is so pure a small hut is all I want, yes, I am so sure. In the midst of this green, living would be a bliss no empty smiles to give, no hatred, malice or airborne kiss. Solitude for company, through moods happy and sad peace will reign. where all seasons would be beautiful - bright summer and misty rain.
