Teresa Dearing Poems
Walk softly ‘cross these hallowed hills,
Wake not the spirits of dark chills.
As night falls ‘cross these harvest fields,
Where corn and soy, gave up their yields.
Fog now sends out her drifting hand,
To touch and chill the lowly man.
Light now a shrouded silver mist,
The moon griped in its mighty fist.
For in this land the ancient sleep,
Secrets kept the mysteries deep.
Walk softly ‘cross this hallowed keep,
Lest those spirits seek your soul to reap.
Steel gray skies over head;
Thoughts of summer fill my head.
Dark brown trees fill up the sky;
Leafless silent way up high.
Steel gray skies shroud my mind;
Mystic beauty in this I find.
As misty rain begins to fall,
Cold and wet it covers all.
No spring for us again today,