Red Hills

A few words I offer,
And my affection...it spills.
When I see in the distance,
The run of those hills.

Those red-hills with slide rock,
That comes running down.
That sweeps to high center,
Like a metal-tipped crown.

For in them is a feeling,
That fills me with tears.
And there is an attachment,
That lasts through the years.

Could I always vision,
The slant of their peaks.
And give to my poor heart,
The comfort...it seeks.

For they mean more to me,
With their summits to behold.
Than the riches of the orient,
Or a treasury of gold.

E.P. 1908 - 1989