To be on this hill is my dream
Standing tall and looking out over the sea.
My telescope extended to its fullest reach
Is that a boat I spy ?
Or is it a large herring gull in majestic flight ?
The wind whips my large ears
The grass is wet with spray
But I stand here on the edge of the cliff
And survey the view

Emily wanted to come
But she is poorly
Poor thing has the flu

So I stand against the elements alone
Proud to be here on this mighty hill
This almost mountain by the azure
Which on sunny days sees picnics and games
But on these blustery December mornings
Sees just me, in great coat and scarf
Screaming in unison with the elements
And turning in dizzy circles with face upwards to the clouds
Laughing and screaming with intense delight

For it is a good thing
To scream
And Shout
Some times

Poor Emily
At home with her fever
While I enjoy the thrust of the mighty ocean
The thwack of the Westerly gale aginst my ruddy face
The drenching from the persistent rain
And the cold cold feelings in my heart
The ice stone at the core of my being that
Prevents me from breaking free from this infernal hill
And making something of myself in the city
Like Moz has

Trudge home poor boy
And see to your aching wife
Think not of these things
Make the tea
Go on
Make the damn tea
Yes
I will make the tea
The zen of tea making
Its all I need
Joy is back

Sod Moz