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  • Writer's pictureTony Frobisher

The Hills That Silent Sing

The Hills That Silent Sing And I could stand for eternity; Listening to the wind, That howls in exuberant shrieks. And gaze out forever in awe Of the hills that silent sing; Their song of landscaped beauty And remain unmoved in the passing of every season. To join with the harshest of winter days; That seize every frozen breath. How this elevated place, Present, momentous and wondrous, Will forever elevate the soul And this view will absorb me... Consume my thoughts And stir and shape emotion. To be there, to be there... To be present at the green of spring's awakening, To bathe in summer's evening light, That fades slow to black, To remark of autumnal hues; As death and decay emblazons leaf, Gold and russet and yellowed browns I am lost and subsumed in the majesty of nature. Of lands sculpted and shaped By the hands of centuries, And by the winds and rains of millenia. I would stand, resolute to stay. To be present hundreds and thousands of years from now. But I need not, for this view would remain.

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