The hill never thought
It will happen.
On a knoll, deserted and desolate,
There will ever be mist and fog.
The hill was called horrid, muddled and jumbled.
Didn’t deserve a caress or hug.
In silence, in a dusk
Softly you touched,
Cuddled hard and smelled strong.
With a smouldering kiss, you whispered, “A priceless art.”
Dumbed and perplexed,
The hill didn’t know
How to react.
He hugged you with all his heart
And made you listen to his beats
You said, “We should meet again.”
He wished to say, “Again and again and again.”
After you were gone,
As he looked up
Bright was the knoll
With your lip rouse,
And blurred was his vision
In mist and fog.