These Green Hills
Published Wednesday, March 21, 2007 by Patrick | E-mail this post
These green hills rolling
Grenoble to Paris bound
As serpent roads coiling
The morning pastures round
And the early season's color
Not yet fallen to the ground
Where lingering mud sucks
With a hollow lapping sound
(Small yellow flowers
Are everywhere blooming beside
The track's sloped embankments,
Like escorts,
Like a buttery parade,
Fragments of a springtime bomb
Always exploding everywhere
From here to paradise).
- Patrick
Labels: Poem
0 Responses to “These Green Hills”
Leave a Reply