The Echoing Hills
The hills stand tall, their silence grand,
While echoes grace the gentle vale,
In whispers soft, by nature’s hand,
They share their ancient, tender tale.

Each stone, a monument of time,
In moss and fern, their secrets old,
Unveiling breath, in sacred rhyme,
In valley’s heart, they dare unfold.

The sunrise spills its golden hue,
A kiss upon the mountain’s crest,
With every glance, a world anew,
In nature’s arms, the spirit’s rest.

So let me wander in these bounds,
To hear the echoes strong and clear,
In nature’s mirth, my heart resounds,
And finds a place where dreams adhere.

• Richard Crashaw