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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE KETTLE MORAINES, by CECILE HOUGHTON STURY
First Line: The kettle moraines - our own scottish hills
Last Line: Telling these forests their dreams and their hopes.
Subject(s): Kettle Moraines, Wisconsin
First Line: The kettle moraines - our own scottish hills
Last Line: Telling these forests their dreams and their hopes.
Subject(s): Kettle Moraines, Wisconsin
The kettle moraines -- our own Scottish hills --
Are bewhiskered old men who, stooping, invite
Their children to climb on a well-arched back
Or snuggle up close for a shelter at night.
The oaks are deep-etched in character pose
In a billowy setting of white against blue,
With scraggy ones rustling their darkened leaves
In defiance of winds that whistle through.
The surging of sap that will loosen their hold
Will carpet the deep amphitheater's pit
Where wooly-wrapped flowers spring forth overnight
In lavender costumes; where butterflies flit.
Awaiting their cue -- the migrants return,
The herald of summer that blooms once again ...
They take to the moraines to glory once more.
There's the patter of children, song in each glen.
O, our kettle moraines -- how we love every bluff
Grouping loquacious about every pond.
Kind thanks to the glacier that skidded here,
Leaving these hills as friendship's bond.
Our mother once romped on these grassy knolls;
Her grandmother, lost, spent a night on the slopes;
Tomorrow our children will frolic and play,
Telling these forests their dreams and their hopes.
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