My Way

When I go to my mountain

and feel the world below,

I feel my people closer,

Closer than you know.



There is a mountain in my life,

that I love so very well,

and it makes me think of

So many things to tell.


A bunch of people running round,

making lots of bread,

and screaming don’t be mercenary,

That’s something that I dread.


And they drive their fancy cars

And build their homes so big,

They fight to better one another,

But only make me sick.


Is happiness a trip abroad,

A swimming pool or yacht?

Can happiness be bought and sold?

O God, I sure hope not!


I only own a mountain,

where I can sit and stare

about the people down below,

For whom I really care.


Is it bad to be alone

and let it all flow by?

Or should you share it all around,

Making other people cry?


And so I go to my mountain

and talk to my trees,

watching the lights below me,

I cry on bended knees


BN – 1964 – Aged 14

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