Captivated by The Ville's Hill.

a poem by Linda Bates Terrell, USA

There was a town called "The Ville"
Twas to all a hunter's thrill.
It wasn't a mountain, just a hill.
Beneath the moons dreary dusty crest.
Twas where room for hunters to guest.

It never was to bright, nor any a brilliant clue.
Just a forests palace, of a hunters dream come true.
It's coyotes, fox and wolves, whined with a shrill.
While deer run to the bottom, of 'The Ville's' hill.
Many a young hunter delights, it's by the night.
For all, come to pass-- was a hunter season's dream.

The morning glories sprouts all--a midst.
While near the lakes water snakes hissed.
Noon, each hawk howled of its own hungry tune.
By midnight, the local dogs howled at the moon.

Not a rugged gent could filter of minds hue,
But all to be up-for dawn to hunt among its dew.
There beneath the tall pines branches.
Grunts of wild hogs, at quick glances.
The calmness of its silence echoed all around.
Upon its rich earth, feet of forest creature'd pound.
But near sunsets gleam, all left the "The Ville's" domain.
Not one, no not one hunter, again would feel so sane.

Linda Bates Terrell
Written © July 11, 2013

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