Heather Hill
By: Nancy Ewing
© 2001

My daughters tumble upwards

Chasing the hill's top

Chance on secret pathways of the rabbits

Among the heather on the hill

 

The rabbits, startled, spring

Into the bright air

Scramble through their mazes and find refuge

Under the tangle in their holes

 

The heather glows purple

In clear morning light

Bends under the feet of the laughing girls

And hides the rabbits in its haze