The Irish Hills Of God

The Irish Hills Of God

There is nothing so beautiful,
as the Irish hills of God.
There is nothing more fragrant,
than the earthen fields of sod.

Spring miracles infinitesimal,
that seek the light of warm day.
Fall colors burn and slowly turn,
then rest in quiet decay.

The solemn,poetic,winter snows,
that come from visiting clouds.
That dust the tired, sleeping fields,
in ghost-like, frozen shrouds.

The awaited springtime rains,
fall gently in prismatic puddles.
Quenching the thirsty hillsides,
where grass and earth muddles.

Summer fruits growing under,
bright green leaves that sway.
delight with taste and wonder,
partakers who come their way.

The sum of all this majesty,
brings to my soul many thrills.
God has played and displayed,
His handiwork upon His hills.

By: Kimarie Manhart-Freeman