Permit Me The Hill Poem by James McLain

Permit me the hill.
Soft is each mound of sand.
Permit me to you the climb,
up the hill.
Denuded of grass, bare of strife.
Having forgotten and tearful rides.
Storing seeds of regret.
Chain of all fears and first pain.
Have you to no one but me ever described,
the loss and description of friction?
As vultures would,
I eye the eve of the first great stain.
With you it is elated you by which it raised.
Being by you lit It expands the sky.
Here the world was first.
Permit me the hill the mountain of the sand.
Become fatigued,
become tired, I fall asleep in the wall.
Wherein at first the walls were to narrow.
While you slept I tried to work.
Now I ride your voice of each new dawn.
I wobble as one of your many dreams.
Under the cloud free sky,
like fresh air which no one smells but me.
Permit me the hill as I sing.
And like me, you repeat soft is each mound of sand.