My Valley Poem by Jason Pack

With the rolling hills,
Made by my own wills.

And the sky blue,
Of my design too.

And the prancing deer,
Birds sing to my ear.

The bubbling brook,
Without a single nook.

And the golden grain,
Made by the gentle rain.

And the little lake,
Which no Sun could take.

With no mark of man,
Upon this land.

The cattle graze,
In the morning haze.

No place like this,
Does anywhere exist.

Where nothing cries,
And nothing dies.

The barking dogs,
Run through the bogs.

With waterfalls,
And forest walls.

The birds fly high,
In the endless sky.

The forests grow,
Through the Winter snow.

And myth is alive,
Here I thrive.