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The worn out hills stared back.
Their sandy tones intensely prevailed above
with a yellow light intently giving them a lustrous surface.
They emanate the feeling of still
Neither hot nor chill
Only calm, not thrill
Mastering this simple skill
Their turns and crevices span far.
Despite this, it feels as if it has not a single scar.
Never forming a towering mound,
Never exuding a sound,
Never hiding something yet to be found.
The smoothed hills did not grow bored,
Through the eyes of the beholder did,
They rested, for it was yet to be explored.
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