Morocco Through a Window
A thousand colours, little green
These hills, where the Berber rode
After him the Arab on steed
Then French and Spanish on this road
That I, traveller, I pay to tour
As thousands did before me
Thousands after will do the same
Just another place for us to be.
Another life, another land through a window
Is it not like that with life yet?
We are but passing by, we see but little
On our speedy journey onto death.
