Edging towards your charming woods,
Whistling wind and swaying leaves.
Mist drifting over the trails I laid,
And nothing to be heard or said.
I am draped in the gentle clouds,
And gliding away in the breeze.
Your lushness brushes against my skin,
Reminding me this is not a dream.
My skin feels parched as I type these words,
Reminiscing in my sparse abode,
Those stolen moments of blissful oblivion,
And my cloudy cloak which is now undone.
I thought of penning this little poem as a tribute to my trip to a charming little hill station called Parwanoo in Himachal Pradesh, India. It is situated upon a hill 5000 feet above the ground where you have nothing but clouds and pine trees for company.