Upon this wooded knoll I sit,
gazing out o'er the land.
With water rippling past my knees,
there's trees on every hand.
I can see the distant mountain peaks,
out in the far beyond.
They make me realize how small I' am,
while sitting here all alone.
The sun is setting behind their peaks,
casting shadows of purple and gold.
The sight makes me want to do great things,
just like the knights of old.
The shadows are changing their colors now,
Setting to a darker hue.
Twilight is stealing o'er the land,
Blotting out the glorious view.
But darkness brings peace and quiet,
everything is still.
It makes me seem so all alone,
away on this hill.
Another day has sped swiftly by,
what will the morrow bring?
No one can tell but our maker,
He created all these things.
(This poem was written by my Uncle Basil Lee Willoughby. It is said he wrote the poem while on a trip hoboing a train out West when he was a young man.)
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