Things Poem by Claudine James

I like the mountains, calm, majestic, wise,
I'm sure that in their ancient bosom, lies
The answer to all things.
I like the desert--endless, ageless, blest,
Unsuffering now, from its quenchless
Thirst, in the rest death brings.

I like the song of birds, in early morn,
Ripping notes, tumbling over one another,
In their effort to be born gave me a thrill.
A baby's outstretched arms, and trusting eyes
And sweet beguiling smile, behind which lies
An indomitable will.