She strolled into the bitter chill
And climbed atop the rolling hill,
The night was dim; the winds were shrill
But, she was sure to stay until.

The dark of night became the dawn
And sunlight danced across the lawn,
Nothing could hurl her spirit on -
That was the place her heart was drawn.

For many years, that was her home
Her love in life; her place to roam,
A site so rich in wealth and loam
Bathed only by ivory sea foam.

Upon the cliff, a sprawling tree
A place for shade that all could see,
Where redbirds joined in groups of three
No better place on earth could be!

The sunsets were of glory there
The sights, the smells; beyond compare,
Yet, candidly lost in a stare
She sat amid the frosty air.

With pen and paper in her hand
And pencils resting on the land,
She etched her life, as she had planned
In rhyming verse by God’s Command.

She sat beneath the sprawling tree
As someone with a heart, set free,
And by the morn, she would agree
She gave her all to poetry. 

Her writings spoke of hope and peace
Small butterflies and flocks of geese,
Of harmony and sweet release
And billowed clouds, in cotton fleece.

The winter wind might blow and blow
Her verses to improper flow,
But syntax rested far below
All that the poet chose to know.

The verses she had scrawled by pen
On notebook pages, razor thin,
She would write twice and once again
Until her final day had been.

For she had viewed the joy that came
From finding her creative flame,
No reward or great sense of fame
Could cease her personal acclaim.

So, late at night in bitter chill
Once more, she strolled atop the hill,
With writing dreams, left to fulfill
And there, she’d surely stay until.

Her inkwell had at last run dry
And ‘twas her time to say goodbye,
Then, to the Heavens, she would fly
With rhyming verse, her lone ally.

© 2006 – Jill Eisnaugle’s Poetry Collection