In Southern Ohio
Rolling foothills open wide as a lovers waiting arms.
Cedars line the path; cones drop kissing limestone soil.
Mourning doves coo merrily in the meadow,
wings the color of smoke.
Hugging the bank, black willow caresses the river,
leaves 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 fertile farmland.
There is liveliness in the air.
So pure, so perfect these things make
the stirring beauty of this land.
Pamela D. Hirte
Published by: Common Threads
