The Hills
The hills are alive, With the scent of the thyme, And the songs of the crickets, Like notes in a rhyme.
They hold all the seasons, The sun and the rain, In the cradle of valleys, Where all things remain.
- Louise McNeill
The Hills
The hills are alive, With the scent of the thyme, And the songs of the crickets, Like notes in a rhyme.
They hold all the seasons, The sun and the rain, In the cradle of valleys, Where all things remain.