Whispering Cypress Under a Swirling Sky

A cypress keeps its watch where wheatfields softly gleam, A winding road invites the heart to wander far. Above, the sky turns slowly in a painted dream, And sunlight hums in rings, a bright and distant star. The hills breathe blue, the valleys hold a warm hush, Each stroke a pulse of wind that will not settle down. Through gold and green, the pilgrim steps begin to rush, To meet the singing light that crowns the sleeping town.