I stormed the mountain,
To discover it was only a hill.
No monsters here, not yet.
But should they come ......
I read lines that wavered,
Caught in an unsettle urgency
That challenged, then rescinded
its message,
As though unable to trust the
reader.
Given the morning hate,
Spewing from my radio
My day has risen to something
bright and shiny.
I think I’ll stay.
For the hill seems welcoming.
The writer has settled
And delivered, with pristine
clarity, her poem,
I can believe the hills and dig
the poem.
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