by KJ Hannah Greenberg
Above me grow the solemn hills of Phi.
Odd flowers bloom, weave variegated roads,
For nanny goats and butterflies to roam.
Beyond, like many stems, pillars arise,
Their pates adorned with ivory seals of state.
Below, ships shine, such tiny colored beads
Strung on a cord with earth and sky and hope.
Men make dreams; their hearts make talking trash.
But one low creature of the land holds fast.
Such minds may play like naughty Billy goats,
Spill visions of some golden, unsung lambs,
Whose fleece and tender ways suggest a smile;
Memories of a time that knew no name,
Still-folded, while yet tending blushing land.
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