Stoned

I am looking down into a land of vast hills and valleys 
within the hills the quiet hill-dwelers 
are singing a song a melody of tranquility 
floats through the air and trickles down through my consiousness 
and beyond in the trees are the nymphs and sprites 
cascading into rivers of green-apple happiness 
they dive in and out of their oblivion 
as I watch them they scatter out into a thousand pieces 
of tiny crystal blessedness and soak into the forest 
a peaceful wind blows through the valley 
in the village they prepare for dark 
within the darkness lies the unknown 
the beautiful endless night envelopes the hills 
and as the sun sets on the quiet valley 
the hill-dweller gather in their homes 
in a tiny tea-cup world they listen for the night 
the sounds of stillness and of silence and of the living night they sleep 
upon beds of dreams and unconsiousness everything is now at rest 
in this vast land of hills and valleys somewhere lies a nervous 
hill-dweller waiting for the end of the living