Each Sleeping Hill

Dew slowly falling it drops are as heavy on the bush the roots grow below. There is a door, it is open. Flowers bloom, leaves are you. I come walking by. Your tears they fall natural and when you come back around I am their always waiting you are welcome. The path winds around each sleeping hill and your face when it's near me, includes. Each night the foot prints when you, where I stand white are left over the soft covered sand. Each morning when you come back All they are now washed away clean and walking away I turn looking back at the sun. And as I wait for night to fall. The moon when it's full rises and only when you. But my mornings are much to long.