The Hills of Jade

I often sail away upon the wings of wistful dreams,
through the azure mist of yet-to-be, to the hills of jade beyond.
I drift away, slowly drift away upon a schooner of cotton swans,
across the valleys of where-I’ve-been t’where frontiers of faith are found.
I dream away, gently dream away upon the wings of mystic gulls,
over the smoke of battlefields, into the purer peace of love.
I soar away, yes, I do soar away upon the windblown silks of prayers,
to the hills of jade where there abide the barley fields so fair.