HILLS.
If I can paint them on my mind— September tides of hills, Blue waves turned into silence
Where not-a foam tip spills; And my sun-freckled meadow And the shade-chilled stone wall And tipping ferns, and crickets Polished to shine, and all The leaves like looking-glasses And air like a clear brook (Aii’ wishing for apples ’ And knowing where to look) And goldenrod in feather
And a lemon butterfly— If I can mint this moment, Let me go low, go high, I have a lucky pocket piece To carry till I die. Emma Hawkridge, in an exchange.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW19301007.2.217.3
Bibliographic details
Otago Witness, Issue 3995, 7 October 1930, Page 62
Word Count
97HILLS. Otago Witness, Issue 3995, 7 October 1930, Page 62
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