Mountain Air

To sit on a mountain in open air
And feel the wind blowing free.
The grass would tickle my fancy
While I was warm on the lee.

I’d get up and walk down a pathway
That led to a meadow of goats,
Then I’d wait and watch in wonder
As the goatherd gave them their oats.

Once done, I’d meander the cornfields
Quite barefoot and when I was done,
I’d slip on my camouflage slingbacks
And turn up my face to the sun.

If lucky, I’d meet a large swineherd
Who’d woo me in rustical tones,
Then whisk me aloft on his shoulder
And promise to rattle my bones.

When the sun sank down west I’d wend homeward,
Back to my rose scented home.
I’d marvel the pleasure I’d taken
And write it all down in a tome.