Wednesday, December 5, 2007

The HIll

//the hill

(POEM # 12)

THIS HILL

We feel lucky to live on our tranquil, green hill,
where the glare from the sun is shaded by old trees,
where periwinkle grows thick and wild roses spill
over hedges, walls, lattice, iron filigree.

Where the glare from the sun is shaded by old trees,
climbing pink roses have bloomed half a century
over hedges, walls, lattice, iron filigree.
Quiet, except for songbirds, breeze, the buzzing bees.

Climbing pink roses have bloomed half a century.
Our love for our hill by the Bay’s ever stronger.
Quiet, except for songbirds, breeze, the buzzing bees.
Those who must move away would rather stay longer.

Our love for our hill by the Bay’s ever stronger.
We are comfortable together, neighborly.
Those who must move away would rather stay longer.
When we’re together, we feel camaraderie.

We are comfortable together, neighborly.
Old residents hobble, young parents cart children.
When we’re together we feel camaraderie,
we tell tales of former neighbors, “Remember when.”

Old residents hobble, young parents cart children,
where periwinkle grows thick and wild roses spill,
We tell tales of former neighbors, remember “when.”
We feel lucky to live on our tranquil, green hill.

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