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I don’t try my hand at poetry much anymore. I concentrate on short stories and novels.

Over the Hill

It rained again today.

The world seemed fresh and new.

The rainbow’s candy colors

Were bright against the blue.


It may have been the springtime

Or perhaps I’m getting old

But I almost could believe in

A rainbow pot of gold.



When I was a child, I had a place

That only my dog and I knew.

There were trees, a pond, and a grassy hill,

Where the four leaf clovers grew.


I went there often in the summer

Alone, because my friends were few.

There were birds and flowers and dreams to dream

Where the four leaf clovers grew.


Sometimes I went in the early morn

When the grass still glistened with dew.

I could laugh, I could cry, or watch the clouds,

Where the four leaf clovers grew.


Too soon I grew up and lost the way

And this feeling is sad but true

I long to go back to those days and that place

Where the four leaf clovers grew.



I am alone

Alone on a hill

A hill above

the city

The city lights are bright

Bright as stars in the country

In the country is where I belong

I belong with you

With you

In the country

Under the stars

Not in the bright

lights of the city

not on a hill alone