The Hills, Reached

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But then I reached the emerald hills;

Sickness?

It had got there first;

Yellowed, withered the grassy hair.

Now the hills are bare.

*

You come here to admire the view.

What view is there, if not from you?

*

And the barbed wires! They seize

The tangled, twisted hillside trees,

Softened by that same disease.

The trunks flake

But cannot break;

Trees like hanging men, flailing,

In the wind now wailing.

*

Like lips in stifled laughter,

The rainclouds rasp and spray.

"So why did you come to the jaded hills?"

"I wish I knew," I say.

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