Ghostly figures stride across the rims of these hills
Standing tall, bronzed bodies, gifted by God
Striding swiftly, proudly as if they were princes
Maybe they were—they knew not that name.
They, themselves, treasured the land;
It was thought of as something to be passed
To their descendants without any spoil.
They took only what they needed today
Putting something aside for their children.
I still seem to see them striding the rims
At that magic hour of early twilight.
The ghosts seem never to leave.
The beauty of this land entrapped the souls.
There! Look quickly now at the hills.
See! Where nightfall meets the evening sky.
Leave a Reply
Want to join the discussion?Feel free to contribute!