The Haze of Ceasless Hills

Perched atop a faithful tower 
Below the shining midday sun,
Dreaming of but one more hour
Before urged to cleave and run.

Basking in such golden rays
With views of ceaseless hills,
Eyes of tact see through its haze
If provoked by the sheer of wills.

Veiled secrets woven through and through  
Betwixt the ribs of grass,
Entranced by a triumphant view 
That shifts for time to pass.