Come Though The Hills Poem by James McLain

Some live to tell but they asking wont.
Some only tell where it is dark and damp.
Confessions led each soul back to where?

Before us one walks rags to riches.
Round them all up and go tell their master.

Clustered there they are grows a
long veiny stem
up through the leaf colored door.

Cranes feed on the frogs in the ditches.
How often we came we whom you are.
And in our coming
really we thought of the day.

I go to bed every night
thinking of only my wife
and my kids.