I am the dreamer of the hill
Where winds rush by
with sweet abandon,
and birds fly
to blooming clouds
within my gentle grasp.
I am the keeper of the hill
And when I go,
descending down,
to the dusk-lit sleeping town
Like amber leaves
from empty trees,
I sigh to leave it all behind,
For on that hill is where I find
the passion autumn has to give,
the life that I have yet to live.
By Colleen B. Rintoul
copyright 1982