The hills

The water caresses the land while above it
The cliffs brush fingers with the sky.
Roots wriggle their torsos in the soil
And the land sighs in an ecstasy of birth.
Whispering gently on the surface,
The lake inwardly clamours for peace
From the people, from the noise,
From the reflection of phone lines in its face.
Synapses haven't grown to form a thinking thing,
Yet emotions run wild - as, for now and for ever,
The arms of the lake will hold off humanity.

-I am doing a creative english course at uni and this unfortunately is the best I have come up with as yet -