RIC S. BASTASA
Hills And Meadows - Poem by RIC S. BASTASA
I like to see hills. Meadows.
Blue skies. Blue birds.
Trees are lining like
This must be the Alps.
White caps on mountains.
A winding river. Pines and cones.
Rabbits and squirrels.
This is the Sound of Music.
A movie in my mind.
You come with your lonely boys and
girls. You are the mother of escapism.
They are the hope of lost fathers
of the wars that man has waged
I like to see hills. But there are none.
I like to hear the sound of music.
But there is none.
I face another darkness.
Tense situations. Another struggle.
No conversations. Heavy with
Perhaps i will light a candle this time.
And inside the flame. I shall see hills again.
Comments about Hills And Meadows by RIC S. BASTASA
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
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You