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