Senility

I had a dream today, I'll tell you about that.

I want to go up the hills again, I'm tired of lands flat.

The hills are high and clean and cold, and they are very nice.

In case you want a cooler drink, you have lots of ice.

The roads wind up and down the mountains in ways totally devious,

And flatland drivers sulk so much on wasted experience previous.

The hairpin bends are a real pain, especially in the morn.

When the air is foggy, the windscreen soggy, so please honk your horn.

In hills untraced, with roads braced, a hotel built at great height

Might prove lucrative in times unseen, but only with foresight.

The flow of travellers in the first few seasons might seem like a trickle,

But one might also turn successful, with help from chance fickle.

A good chef in the kitchen is one sure formula

To attract to the hotel guests, and to the cashbox moolah.

Keep a spacious terrace or two, and a nicely trimmed lawn,

Guests'll gather together there to watch sunrise at dawn.

Among other things, efficiency in service is a keeper.

(A small tip: People prefer hotels that are cheaper!)

Anyway, this dream of mine isn't castle-in-the-air.

After a prime well-spent, I'd like to sit idly in a chair -

Maybe read my favourites, or listen to a tune,

(I hope you'll pardon me for dreaming big so soon.)

Might even invite friends that I've gathered across years,

Sit together around a fire and share laughs and tears.

Y'see, life in the cities involves so many tricks,

I'd want to be left alone when I've had my fix.

On pleasant wintry evenings, I'll sometimes take a walk.

When there's languor in the hilly air, and also in the clock.

So if I ever meet you on one of those lonely routes,

You're welcome as ever to my place to warm your frozen boots.