Not the Hills Your Mother Walked

An easy walk for limbs of flint,

Pebbled feet,

And a feeble constitution

Don’t look back to assess the journey

Or count the steps you prayed to take

These are not the hills your mother walked –

For she had stronger bones than you,

A life full of zest,

And more fibers in her little finger

Than you could find

In a moonlit sky

Or a rocky creek

Or in the lunch you packed

To eat at the top