Echoes

My father's hammer, when it strikes,
Wakes up the hills and plains;
A thousand times the hills cry out
As if they feel the pains. Every time that hammer strikes,
The hills wake up and cry;
And valleys deep, O how they weep
Until the echoes die.

by George Lewis Walker

Other poems of GEORGE LEWIS WALKER (4)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.