The Land
Far away there in the land of the leaves, Where the flower-speckled grasses grow, And the lizard slips on a glimmering stone, The dance of the wind has its toll.
Little dew drops hang on every tree,
And the sun will hurl its heat down,
Heavy as gold on the weighty sky,
But the brook will still sing when I am not found!
In the stillness of dusk, with the moon in the shade, When life is a gossip, and time is a game, I sit and I dream, in the wind’s embrace, In the land that is mine, that I know by name!
- Rudyard Kipling