Shangri-La

There is discomfort in a long horizon
That stretches on forever endlessly
I like my mountains making a disseisin
Stealing away the distance so I see
Their whiteclad tops or wooded flanks instead
Of endless flatness coming to a line;
A flat horizon lies out like it's dead
Give me a jagged range covered in pine.
I love to see the clouds dip down and touch
The hilltops or the mountains far away;
An infinite expanse is just too much:
I want to live beneath the mountains' sway
And see infinity but in the stars
Confined to earth it jangles and it jars.