The Hill

A silhouette stands on a hill
A wandering heart, slowed to still.
With hands upraised
In silent praise
She basks in this moment of glory.

Thankful tears emboss her face
Turned towards heaven's place.
In her tired eyes
Triumph lies...
Each teardrop tells a story.

Upon this hill a soul is blessed,
Travelling feet find peaceful rest.
Ministering grace
From solitude's face...
Here you find not an earthly care.

A glance at the pathway she left behind
With steeps, cliffs, valleys - intertwined.
A path torn asunder
Causes me to wonder...
How often she fell before she got there.T