Books by Patricia Hilliard
A Field or a Friend, I cannot tell them apart.
Here blue Chicory flowers,
there, fragrant Yarrow,
Wood Sorrel, Chamomile and Queen Anne's Lace
Above, blue sky
with white fluffy clouds passing over leaving shadows on the grass
Timothy, wild oats--tall stems
that together roll like waves in the swift summer breeze
I gaze at each.
In another corner, a home once stood, fallen in now,
or burned out
Opposite from there, a dead tree
Over in the middle just several paces,
I cross a bed of moss growing green and soft
Scattered everwhere are
Black Raspberry canes grow in clusters
A row of Silver Maple trees
stand guard along the edge
As I walk through this field
of your personality,
there is much that intrigues me.