• Standing atop the rolling hills,
• I witnessed the rise and fall of the Sun.
• So swiftly risen and faultlessly set,
• Yet the brilliance forever remained,
• Emanating over Her whose beauty
• Was and is ceaseless and captivating—
• Even when the sky fell black.

• Longing, but not alone in the night,
• Stars of platinum white twinkled in my eyes,
• Blinding me with their glowing masses.
• They are the omens, the fallacies,
• Superfluous to a nighttime dream
• And a death-call to the day's return.
• I am a blind man in the night.

• Standing atop the rolling hills,
• I heard the howl and temper of the sea,
• Crashing ashore with a voice of relentless fury.
• And so was Her soul,
• Convicted and full of passion,
• Consumed with the fire of life—
• Even when the tide was as still as glass.

• These tempests end not in misery,
• Nor will I feel absence's sting.
• I will hold in solidarity with hope,
• Given not to a spirit of fear,
• Infallible to the covered heavens.
• I stand, a statue upon the cracking Earth,
• That I may see Her shores again.

• Standing atop the rolling hills,
• I felt the sting of the wind on my back.
• Biting and bitterly cold,
• The gale whispered in a potent tone.
• Yet my heart remained convicted,
• And my eyes remained focused.
• She was the sun, the sea, and the future;
• I was fortunate to be the witness.