Town Of Haze

The town of haze sloping;

Nestled in the purple hills;

Farmyards carved into steps, slanting.

Through roads spiral, people walk;

Fish leaping in the whistling falls of rills;

The town of haze sloping.

Sky slowly darkening;

Churning out the flour, the mills;

Farmyards carved into steps, slanting.

Last rays of indigo dusk striking;

When night descends, all stills;

The town of haze sloping.

Late hours, folks retiring;

The splendour of the lilies-of-the-valley spills;

Farmyards carved into steps, slanting.

Eyes close, soft lullabies of the mountains humming;

A blanket of slumber fulfils;

The town of haze sloping;

Farmyards carved into steps, slanting.