The trees stand as sentries in our woods
Guarding the glens and the brooks within
So many drive by these hills I climb
Never seeing all they hide from sight
Here, I find a small cave quiet and dark
Where perhaps a cub first saw a night
There, rocks jut from the earth
As if climbing to reach the light
Atop the hills are glades and glens
Soft, alive, green and bright
They invite this climber of the hills
To rest, perhaps to see his life
A drink from a mountain stream
Before I feared what it contained
Sweet and cooling on my lips
It brings my body life and refreshes my soul
But what brings me to these hills?
Why do I walk the woods?
Why is the day filled with growing dread?
A pilot, and his family, await my finding
Hidden... somewhere up ahead
2 comments:
The feel of the poem does not prepare one for the hidden reality revealed in the last stanza.
My memories are like that, there was a stark contrast from the beauty of the hills and forest I was unprepared for in the end.
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