Shangrila

Oh sweet early morning haze,
with gray-green moutain tops anew.
The rising of thy sweetheart smiles,
where yellow dry grasses wave,
as your scourching Summer's kisses cool.
Geese flock now, in arrows for their journey near-
Redwing blackbirds, Meadowlarks,
their words spoken, I hear.
Gentle breeze, soft lips touch my cheek,
soul alive, smiling now- here clear water flows.
Ah, this place, this lovely Highland Creek.