Missing hills

I miss hills.

 

Hills,

With crisp drifts;

With spick spirits;

 

With livid, living

firs, birds, wilds, griffins,

hid in thick mist.

 

In tip, is rift

stirring with kith-n-kin.

 

This shifting scrim,

this rill singing still.

 

Nigh! Right thing is,

I miss hir diggings,

hir kind.

 

I miss hills!!!

Welfare unto all

Rab Rakha