The hills are going somewhere;They have been on the way a long time.They are like camels in a lineBut they move more slowly.Sometimes at sunset they carry silks,But most of the time silver birch trees,Heavy rocks, heavy trees, gold leavesOn heavy branches till they are aching ...Birches like silver bars they can hardly liftWith grass so thick about their feet to hinder ...They have not gone farIn the time I've watched them ...
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Hills
written byConkling Hilda
© Conkling Hilda
