Atop the hill where I reside at Hudson’s highest point, my townhouse spies.
Everything whistles, twists and flies:
Deer, and wind and goldfinch cries.
Vistas spread from mount to mount
While rivers’ waves too much to count
Rush on
Upon
The great beyond.
Jeanne Poland 7/20/11
The Vibrant Channeled Creator 
Aug 23, 2011 @ 11:47:41
There is a lot of sensory appeal to this poem – I feel as if I am “Atop the Hill” looking down. Thanks for sharing your poetry with me. :o)
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Aug 18, 2016 @ 09:30:57
Reblogged this on The Vibrant Channeled Creator and commented:
Once I was at a poetry workshop in PA and a poet from Chicago quoted my poem to me, She had committed it to memory 3 years earlier! Here it is:
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