The Rolling Hills

I wake to glory in the rolling hills
In autumn when the air is clear and cold
My thoughts are wrapped up in the morning’s chills
Of what is free, and neither bought nor sold

For life, this life, it is all I will get
To make of what I will, this moment now
With each step taken, there is one more yet
To reach the stage, perform, and take my bow

The rolling hills of wonder all around
The autumn bursts of color in my eyes
The birds of fall, with each their diff’rent sound
The morning sun, whose first rays cauterize

The wounds of yesterday that late lay bare
And vanish in the bracing autumn air


(From November, 2014)

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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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