The Tall Grass (By The Spring House) Poem by Thomas Hooker

Those Appalachian hills
rise up from the valley,
yellows and reds splash
color in all direction.

Crisscrossing the field
the grass so tall it grabs my feet,
churning high with my knees
clipping along, slowing my gait.

Stealing the sun, the dusk
sneaks up on the day, one
horse grazes, while two cows
laze about in the pasture.

Because of you,
I think of these hills,
taming the garden and
keeping the spring house clean.