Winding Roads Singing

misty morning palisades babbling brook cold spring heavy merge ahead flowing willows weep fall foliage treats hues of purple a touch of red sounds of led zeppelin the who the dead nothing rhymes with orange in these rolling New York hills so much breeze through my hair so many faces past my eyes over thousands of miles from my dreams I hear your cries Oh Delhi; succulent crisp jewel of my youth Hail hail urban sprawl for passing you by thumb leveled on winding roads singing, I am free I am young I am wild memories of a one cow town puts my head in the clouds plants my feet on the ground