untouched heavens

In the peaks of untouched heavens

Lay a village yonder peak

At the end of funnelled valleys

pine-dressed mountains, boulders sleeping

seasonal hats of white

a river laid claim

A bishop ruled for ages

Gushing plains of black-nosed sheep

Flock abed the mother horn

As families few

And work a-plenty

Labor be thy blessing

Chapels built

Like mushrooms grew

And with the trains

A southern wind

A foreign sum of bureaucrats

But mostly hands to pinch off bread

With many beds, still unprepared

And unconceived

As drilling halts

A tunnel sleeps

The mountains must be broken