Margalla Hills

This crispy morning

We walk in the woods

Hand in hand

In silence.

The smell of pine trees

Dry leaves rustle underfoot

The rolling turquoise skies

And emerald Margalla Hills.

In the morning after

The repose,the rapture

The sweet unspoken

Melody of love

Music in the air

Heavens symphonies

Peace to share

And feel of eternity