Hills - Poem by James McLain
Higher or shorter.
There out and some upon.
is it not better never how too long.
Wanting the hill upon, even wishing
the hill, through the window, seeing it.
Safe here in your warmth,
where you stood up to gaze, herein
as well there out upon and simply.
And in the early wanting of it,
to remember the why of it instead.
Each branch and limb that rubs
against the warm window pane between.
The tree up against it and how it
leans against the wind,
leaned you out there in to sway.
Being in bloom so fanciful must we,
make it come, when it can not be seen.
When it can not in winter be so green
it comes around each spring again.
To the spring, from which you sing.
and night and day and day and night.
The sun above,
moon lies below in wait for spring.
Until it does.
Comments about Hills by James McLain
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye