1 minute reading time (57 words)

The hills of home

Of my own salt, these hills are made

I am made of them

grey stone

red dust

black wash--

from the jagged edge I look down

the land stares up at me

it is as me, stark and thorny,

it prickles as I do,

it is of my own salt.

 

 


(c) Omer Tarin, 'A Sad Piper' 1994

Fledgling wings in summer

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