The Rolling Hills
Of paradise
Is where I live
The sounds of birds,
That could be black, red, orange, yellow, and blue
Warms my spirit as they feed on our bird feeder
Trees that now have green leaves in the summer
Have orange, yellow, and green leaves in the fall
Having no leaves in winter,
The burst of green leaves again rejuvenates our souls in the spring
The air,
Vast and always smelling fresh
Hydrates this green land,
The birds, the grass, and the trees
Shaping the place I call home
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