Grass blowing in the wind by a sapphire sea,
Undulating hills under burning mesmerizing sun,
As I stare from this mountain top,
The sea like a gem lies in the distance,
From the windy top, clouds drift by.
Sitting here in the cold solitude of this ancient monastery,
It was here as days passed to ages,
As night imparted its sweet song on the dusty hills,
Cloaked in the darkness of centuries,
The white stars and crescent moon hid the secrets of lost empires,
Silver chalice of the night, lift it up into the wind,
Let me drink the sweet ambrosia,
And when I die, the memory of
me becomes one with the wind that flows past the summit,
A song that echoes past this stone basilica, sentinel of eternity,
Proud Tabor reigning like a king,
High over over misty blue waters, the Galilee Sea,
I call from its cloudy top, and all my dreams answer me.
