to the surfeited heart, 

weary of heat

and weeds

and leaves,

longing to breathe 

cold, bracing air,

explore the hillsides

swept and bare;

to revel in each bush,

each tree

stripped to stark

simplicity; 

original etchings

everywhere—

and You,

Who etched them,

with me there.  

 

Taken by permission and adapted from “Ruth Bell Graham’s Collected Poems,” by Ruth Bell Graham. ©1977, 1992, 1997, The Ruth Bell Graham Literary Trust.