poetry & things

Child of the Hills

Back where I used to roam

beyond the mulberry hills

running from sudden black storms,

torrential August monsoons

soaked thoroughly through

Oh, to be a motherless child of the hills, again

quick to dance away the depths of lonely

always looking to the sea for distraction

and possibility

After a storm, I listened for life

how the hilly flowers shined, alive with bees

the birds and buzz all about the field

in a world, that was everything real to me

and made all the difference, in knowing

what it was to be free

While glints of gold skimmed the horizon

I’d dry my shoes in the last hour of the sun

dreaming to live right there, where I belonged

dreading the long dragging back home

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