Of the skies echoes,
and the tranquil rages, of the river below.
The last image, before I greeted the day,
was the view from the back, of a whimsical hide away.
Sitting on the cliffs edge, as if I could fly.
Viewing over the fields of rice,
terraced from somewhere here to eternity's sight.
Ambushed, by a sea of textual greens.
Only to awake from the alarm,
that begins my day's routine.
