Amongst the mountains a mist has settled,
blinding white like snow,
flows through the valley wide and deep,
where no man dares to go.

The sun is shinning atop the hills,
the great curved sweeping planes,
the green grass shines like velvet,
with dew from the last rains.

The trees before me, straight and tall,
stretch proud into the sky,
the canopy of leafy green,
where only birds can fly.

I am the weary traveler
and here I make my home,
with deserts, trees and mountains,
I am proud to stand-alone.