I walk up to the Hill over the bustling leaves.
The last weather changed it into the naked sticks.
But still the maple groups show their beauties at their best.
The open blue sky pours down spot light all the lane.
Why, I see the blue roof down there at the 4th top spot!
The spring drops echo all around the calm valley.
A jack-daw on the acacia cries up his song,
And a flying squirrel runs up and down in haste on the old
oak
