Top Of The Hill

Poem By Egal Bohen

When the sun shines on a clear day

And the wind blows through the green leaves

Of the Beech trees

At the top of the hill

Where the birds soar to the white clouds

In the blue

Thats where I would be

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Other poems of BOHEN

Cornwall

Mystic land
Set in the sea
To catch in summer sun
In winter mist and tree bent storm

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Doors that close
Doors that lead
Where no one goes

Animals In Clothes

Animals in clothes I see
Driving cars or sipping tea
Animals in clothes I see
But they don't know what they are

Religions Of Man - Part I - Or - Get Close To The Shore Yourself

The Religions of Man
Are like vast rivers
Meandering slowly
Across great plains to the ocean

Tolerance

When we are angry at mankind
Or rave at some depravity of mind
When we would curse behaviour of a kind
To argue, rather than to view benign

Black Silver

Silver is the mirror,
Where colours cannot run
From one into another
For silver it has none