Oh, the music of the hills!
The joyful sound they cry, as the sun beams down to them.
The symphony they exhibit, as the rain sprinkles it's gift upon them.
When they flush orange with the poppies that sink their roots down.
When they glow with mustard, or blossom with lupine.
The little boys and girls nest in the long grasses and sing harmonies along with the hill's melody.
The trees wave in the winds that rush up over the bluffs.
Oh, the music of the hills!
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poems
PuisiA description can say a lot, and it can say a little; so can a poem. Guess you'll just have to find out what it's gonna say.
