Each Sleeping Hill Poem by James McLain

Dew slowly falling it drops
are as heavy on the bush
the roots grow below.

There is a door, it is open.
Flowers bloom, leaves are you.
I come walking by.
Your tears they fall natural
and when you come back around
I am their always waiting
you are welcome.

The path winds around each sleeping hill
and your face when it's near me, includes.

Each night the foot prints when you,
where I stand
white are left over the soft covered sand.

Each morning when you come back
All they are now washed away clean
and walking away

I turn looking back at the sun.
And as I wait for night to fall.
The moon when it's full
rises and only when you.

But my mornings are much to long.