The Hills I Used To Know Poem by Patrick Fealy

In an olive grove near heaven
a boy scout used to roam
Hunting snakes and rabbits
the things a boy should own
Stealthy as a savage
clad in forest green
Flint and steel would light a fire
in a wilderness of dreams
As soaring planes flew far above
They would tip their silver wings
Down below the chapel stood
on a hill where we would sing
Processing there on Sunday
upon the dusty trail
The Lord was pleased in heaven
when Mary would be hailed
Bowing to the Lord of hosts
a priest would genuflect
Lifting up the blessed host
The town below was blessed
God up in His heaven
and Christ down here on earth
That's how I remember it
In the land that gave me birth