I can hear them.
I hear them laugh.
Sometimes, I hear them weep,
Which is a shock within this tranquil realm.
The clearest blue sky with the fluffiest white clouds,
Where all kinds of plants and flowers grow
A gentle brook flows
And a pleasant warmth surrounds.
A flutter of wings makes me turn
My spirits lift: will I see one?
Bird appears, twinkle in eye,
Hopping from branch to branch
With quilt-like leaves overhead.
My wit tells me they’re near
Their essence provides the spice
The beauty, the comfort, the rest
To this, their eternal paradise
The Mansionic Perspective 
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