I am from rounded hills
    and ankle-aching cold clearwater
    brooks tumbling the roughest
    granite smooth, grinding
    quartz to sand.

I am from church steeples
    rising above ever-changing trees,
    bells tolling the hour,
    echoed by the lead cow
    headed barn-ward.

I am from make it do
    or do without, and pennies pinched
    so hard ( Read more... )