Distant Hills Poem by Stephen Harris

Wind chimes blown in gales that echo from far distant hills,
call to me still with shrill, chill voices from valleys void
where weak brazen men happily beat near beaten boys.
This gorge where rapids roar, and wild white waters deaden cries,
wash away from sight all sin though minds immortalise.
Do I answer by ringing that same old sounding bell?
No, I lift my head then look ahead, and leave those days to hell!