by John Enright

I loved to hear her talk about the Pennsylvania hills
Where the green trees shade the sunshine and the cold clear water spills
Down the slopes in twisting streamlets to collect in rocky pools
Where a girl could splash her cares away, away from all the rules
Of what to say — of what to do — dissolved in nature's law,
As her eyes soaked up the beauty and her heart filled up with awe.

In her life she bore three children, and taught them all she could,
And to each she passed the vision of that symphony in wood,
And I hear her voice to this day, when my wife makes ahs and oohs
As we ride across the countryside in search of yet more views.
That sacred spirit still lives on within her sons and daughter,
The spirit of that little girl, at play in mountain water.