Pamela Hirte

In Illinois 

Rolling hills open wide as a lover’s waiting arms,

White oaks line the path; leaves drop kissing fertile soil.

Cardinals coo under the brush,

wings the color of scarlet and brown.

 

Along the bank, violets caress the river,

flowers spin and float to a secret hideaway.

Wild turkeys traverse the territory along the woods.

Mornings return brings reverence to this place.

 

I breathe in the richness of Illinois farmland.

There is liveliness in the air.

So pure, so perfect- these things make

the stirring beauty of this land.

 

Published by:  Illinois State Poetry Society Journal