The Hill

If I was twenty-years younger

and could get my legs to abide,

I’d climb that hill over there.

And without knowing, without

the aid of a map, a photograph

or GPS, I’d climb that sucker

to see what’s on the other side.

What hill, you ask? You can’t

see a hill from here. Come,

walk with me a ways. It’s over

there, just beyond the horizon.

On second thought, I don’t think

I can make it that far. And besides,

what could I do once I got there?

You go on ahead; I’ll just sit and rest

a spell, waiting patiently for a vista

of words which lie beyond the hill

I see from here towering over me.

Chris Hanch 2-13-18