The cross on the Hill.
Tear drops of the night,
gracefully fall in the laps of craving leaves,
If it were dew drops of illumination,
of necessity, shall it be, bliblical.
Urgent sunrays of solemn Sunday,
prides itself along the streets of heaven.
If it were sunrays of raw gold,
compulsorily, the emergence of supernal abode.
On the hill there's a cross.
Every inch of witnessed nature,
it's certainty doth it breath.
Of awe, mansions within houses.
If it were not so...