photo credits
Judy Meeker

There is poetry is these hills

On a summer morn

It sings through weedy fields

And whispers in the corn.

There is poetry in these hills

Expecially in the fall

Through the voice of whippoorwills

I hear it's beauty call

There is poetry in these hills

On long winter eves

When the wind whispers, 'Let me in.'

And howls around the eaves

And the warm fire hisses,

'You will not get in

With your cold wet kisses

Thou icy winter wind.'

There is poetry in these hills

Not written down in rymth

But in rabbit tracks on snowy fields

And the barks of white spruce pine.