Over the Hill
The hill is not high,
Maybe 200 feet – high enough.
It is a swath of ascending greenery
Just a few small boulders,
some low shrubs.
At the top we are panting;
an old man and his old dog.
Nevertheless I feel great,
I shout in a weak voice,
shout at the sky, glad to be here.
My dog tugs at his leash.
He wants to go down the other side of the hill,
but not I.
We both trot back the way we came up.
I just didn’t want
to end up further over the hill,
lower
than where I had started.
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