Your words are worth a thousand of most folks’
plucked from the mountain air you walk within,
the lake shore which abounds in ancient oaks
the rivers and the valleys in between
The landscape of my youth, and of of my home
enriched your lines through seasons out of time
this sacred landscape I am blessed to roam
rolls off the tongue, bewitched, and rich with rhyme
Tempered with grief, and yet not hardened so
tended with love, as the beloved plot
above which played a girl while slept below
a brother, one of seven, un-forgot
Your words are worth more than their weight in gold:
wonders, which but for them would rest untold
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Happy Birthday, W.W.!