Poetry of Kansas

The Hills

The prairie land is a lovely land, and fair it lies and broad,
With its miles of sheer and shimmering wheat, a-sway on the
        level sod.
But I come from the hills, and I miss the hills, that lift their
        heads to God.
 
A prairie sky is a wondrous thing, rose-stained and turquoise
        blue,
When the last gray hour of the night is spent, and the day is
        born a-new.
But my heart has leaped to the rugged hills, when the silver
        dawn stepped through.
 
A prairie night is soft and blurred, out under a star-sown sky;
The fireflies rise from the tail, damp grass, as the last of day
        goes by.
Through holy nights we have watched the hills, ___ the desert
        stars and I.
 
The prairie land is a friendly land, where gay, wild sunflowers
        nod
Their dusty heads to each stiff necked spray of wayside golden-
        rod.
But I loved the hills, the stern, dark hills, that spoke to me of
        God.
 

The Call of Kansas and Other Poems
Esther M. (Clark) Hill
(Cedar Rapids: Torch Press. __)
Page 44

 
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November 12, 2002 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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