I am all crazy foothills
tumbling and topsy
milling round the mountain
that juts up so sudden

in bittersweet russet
and chromium slate
and silver so still
and so dancingly daring

to reach above treeline
and shout to lost rivers
I am little to love and yet
do have a draw

that compels a return
to be squeezed in the chaos
and lost in the hidden
the hidden, the hidden, get

lost in the hidden.