I saw a village on top of a cliff overlooking the sea,
and each tiny house had a nameplate.
The road up was cumbersome, a track of thistles,
I thought only the brave get to dwell where sea
and land meet in harmony, when work has ended
and flowers are but memories of the bygone.
However hard the track is I will reach the top,
my house will face north where winter storm roars
and summers, a waterfall dream in a blue fjord.
I will know I lived well, the better of two worlds and
I shall not ask for more.
