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The hills that grace these hidden lands,

That shelters the traveler’s souls.

They speak a language so unknown,

That little can hear what’s told.



The trees that hold the dirt within,

That sings a melody with the wind,

The lone coyote at the brink of dark,

Yearning to be heard with a single bark.



Those rocks high up upon the ridge,

Sentinels to all that can be seen.

The small birds and creatures,

That lives in this Promised Land.



These things make up that language,

It whispers to our souls.

We search and yearn for secrets.

But alas few could ever know.



Yet those few who have heard the words,

And sing with its ancient melody,

They know the truth about those hills,

And all there is to be.



The words you see are simple ones,

Understood by man and child.

Love the land, upon which you stand,

As a mother would for her child.



These hills have stood the test of time,

And longer still to come.

But what happens between now and then,

Depends on every man, woman and child.

COMMENTS

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TrailorBoy
16:06 Mar 17 2009

Well done!

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RomaMarieNightwing
13:05 Jul 25 2009

Fabulous written works

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