Monticello
Hearken back unto a time
when the willow weeps o’er the riverside
where radishes and cabbage grow in a line
nearby rabbits hop away and hide
The women whisper amongst themselves
and bid you call upon the master
over the hill upon which sits a well
you will hear a chorus of sweet laughter
The mountain you sit upon is your castle
and from it sprang the seeds of a new nation.
the wind brushes you against a thistle
what do you feel stirring inside? It is creation.
Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007
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