Walk softly ‘cross these hallowed hills, <br />Wake not the spirits of dark chills. <br />As night falls ‘cross these harvest fields, <br />Where corn and soy, gave up their yields. <br />Fog now sends out her drifting hand, <br />To touch and chill the lowly man. <br />Light now a shrouded silver mist, <br />The moon griped in its mighty fist. <br />For in this land the ancient sleep, <br />Secrets kept the mysteries deep. <br /> <br />Walk softly ‘cross this hallowed keep, <br />Lest those spirits seek your soul to reap.<br /><br />Teresa Dearing<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hallowed-hills/
